


Nothing Worth Saying Aloud

by Neleothesze



Category: Naruto
Genre: Drama, F/M, Minor Character Death, Rating May Change, Romance, Time Travel, Warnings May Change, Zetsu's Diet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-03-26 13:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 19,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3852562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neleothesze/pseuds/Neleothesze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An experimental seal lands young Mikoto Uchiha in a strange future where her clan is dead, the Sandaime might have ordered it and her distant cousin Obito is now a powerful, slightly insane missing nin (but also the only one who might help her survive Konoha hunters and her clan's alleged murderer, that Uchiha Itachi guy everyone is whispering about).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Warning** : disturbing imagery

**Prologue**

**10 years before the Kyuubi Attack**

 

Fat drops of sweat slid across her dirty cheeks. Mikoto paid them no mind, busy scratching symbols in the dirt. There was little room on the floor, for all that the cell was empty save for the people and a few handfuls of scattered straw, brown and broken and covered in filth.

The sharingan glowed faintly in the near gloom, a solitary gem in a drawn, ashen face. Her left eye was swollen shut and her now crooked nose was bleeding freely but she hadn’t surrendered any useful information so far, let alone about her bloodline.

Dirt caught under her chipped nails as she worked but every line was drawn with painstaking patience.

“ _...And then I’d place the Three Heavenly Chains, to balance it all out, ‘ttebane._ ” she remembered Kushina saying. Her friend’s voice had been slurring slightly as she sipped on her ninth glass of shochu, but the napkin doodle had been done with a remarkably steady hand.

“ _Course it’s all… hypothetical… a work in progress. ‘Cause I can make it slide forward… well tilting sideways, sort of, but Minato-baka’s worried about the chakra cost. Oi, Mikoto-chan, are you listenin?! ‘Cause I’m gonna need your help. You’ll have to use the sharingan to see when to stop pouring chakra - lest I shoot past the end of the world!_ ”

“ _You’re so dramatic, Kushina._ ” she’d huffed, hardly sober herself. “ _Like you’d have enough chakra for that._ ”

“ _Don’t underestimate me, ‘ttebane! I could shoot past the end of the world if I wanted to!_ ”

Her hand spasmed and she lifted it in a panic, careful not to disturb the unfinished seal. Her fingers were little more than swollen, broken lumps which twitched and seized and a few whimpers escaped as she breathed through the pain. Beside her, the guard moaned faintly, caught in the throes of a genjutsu.

This was her fifth escape attempt. Atsushi had died during capture, Hiro during the third attempt, Tanaka-taichou during the fourth.

She had expected them to kill her too, but they’d only laughed and jeered and dumped her back in the cell together with her teammates’ corpses. The filthy straw stuck to her skin as she bent forward.

It had been three days now, three hot summer days and the room was starting to smell like a charnel house. Beside her, Hiro’s mouth was twisted in a ghastly rictus, glassy eyes seeming to stare accusingly and she could feel Tanaka-taichou’s gaping torso pressing into her side.

Even with a bleeding, broken nose she could smell the acrid stench of old blood and slowly rotting flesh.

It was likely, Mikoto reflected, that this would be her final shot. Her body felt like a collection of cracks, tears and bruises, uncertainly held together by battered flesh and a fraying will.

Her genjutsu wasn’t strong enough to capture all of the camp’s guards and Mikoto feared that she wasn’t walking out of this. That they hadn’t noticed her sharingan was a miracle, but the downed guard by her side would rectify that error the second her control should slip.

There was little harm now in attempting Kushina’s crazy seal - a last ditch attempt before snapping the capsule. The ‘little purple death’ as everybody called it, standard issue for every Uchiha leaving on a mission above C-rank during wartime, an expensive, insidious concoction meant to forcefully destroy all capillaries in a twenty centimeter area, rendering their prized eyes unobtainable.

“ _Honorable suicide it may be_ ”, Mikoto thought, “ _but I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die._ ” That single thought was like a filthy, cowardly worm crawling inside her brain, burrowing and swelling much like the maggots crawling inside her team’s corpses. It was all she could think about for the past two days. How to stay alive… How to make it out of this alive.

This sudden, stubborn desire to cling to life went against every procedure hammered into her brain since childhood, against her duty to Konoha and of preserving the clan’s secrets but no, she was hardly seventeen. Hardly seventeen. Mikoto had found that she didn’t want to kill herself. Not without exhausting every other choice.

The special jounin finished the seal with a last, careful drag of her thumb through the dirt and her eyes snapped to the downed guard.

“For you, Kushina.” Mikoto whispered with a wavering smile “That test you always wanted...” Quickly she pushed the guard towards the circle, before slowly rising herself.

Judging by the halting steps, the young man was fighting the order but the lengthy stay inside the genjutsu had weakened his resolve and his body betrayed him as he stumbled inside without smearing the lines.

With a twist of her feet Mikoto snapped his neck and settled above the corpse. The spine poked grotesquely, a tiny sliver of white bone surrounded by rapidly reddening skin and she took a moment to stare at it in morbid fascination, before rending her own hand on the sharp shard of bone. As their blood pooled inside the deep grooves, she forced her fingers into the first seal.

“ _Let’s see how much time your life was worth._ ”


	2. A New Cousin

**Chapter 1: A New Cousin**

**12 years after the Kyuubi Attack**

Almost everyone in Ashoro could tell you about their young new tailor. Mikoto had slipped into the village one day, battered and bleeding - ostensibly the sole survivor of a terrible bandit attack - and quickly garnered the credulous villagers' sympathies.

‘ _Have you heard of Kurosawa Momo-san, such an unlucky girl._ ’ one gossip mentioned  ' _Ah, yes, poor Kurosawa-san. Our village healer exhausted all his chakra in healing her'_ the others would share _'- thrice! - and the girl still had to suffer months of limping with a cane._ '

Slowly, Mikoto secured a reputation as a harmless, somewhat withdrawn civilian - ' _the young woman who painted the most beautiful pictures and whose skilled hands could tailor such fashionable clothes._ ' - a kind girl whom the villagers could approve of, but who would slip from their minds as unremarkable and ultimately unimportant. 

The only ones Mikoto couldn't escape were her elderly neighbors. ' _If only the girl would settle down with a boy._ ' her busybodies whispered as she passed them by. ' _She’s one and twenty already. That pretty face of hers won’t last forever._ ' She shuddered at possibly having to deal with such issues. The civilians were perfect to hide among but nowhere near the men her clan might have considered acceptable. _Her clan._ Mikoto’s stomach still twisted painfully at the words, for all that they crossed her mind each and every day.

She had been planning her return to Konoha when she’d heard about her clan’s massacre. That her clan - her whole family, over a hundred strong! - could have been murdered by one of their own, supposedly by some young prodigy, had made her paranoid about returning to her village. “ _Cowardice!_ ” another treacherous thought would whisper, and truly so. Because the madman may reputedly have left the village, but where had the ANBU been when her little cousins had screamed for mercy, where had they been when the elderly had undoubtedly tried to flee? How could the police force have been slaughtered to the last man when the shifts covered the whole twenty-four hours? Why had no Uchiha been on a mission during the massacre?

The more questions she asked herself, the more frightened Mikoto felt - " _Hiding behind excuses like a spineless wretch, aren't you,_ " the thoughts whispered " _too afraid to confess to the Lord Hokage that you'd abandoned your duty in the middle of the war_ " -, the more her certainty grew that Konoha wouldn’t be a safe haven for any Uchiha - especially one unfamiliar with what had happened for the past twenty years, one who wouldn’t know who to trust.

She'd tried consoling herself that this wasn’t _her_ future anyway but rather _some_ future, ‘forward but tilting sideways’ - by Kushina’s reckoning at least, and didn’t the thought sting, that Kushina was dead here, while Mikoto was somehow still alive.

In some of her darker moods, she wondered whether there had been an Uchiha Mikoto here at all,  one killed together with her other clansmen by some faceless prodigy - _Uchiha Itachi_ was the name they whispered - culled with the village’s tacit approval.

The decision to stay in Ashoro had been easy. It was all so blessedly different from everything Mikoto had grown up with that even the usual, accidental reminders of home seemed to be missing.

Unlike her clan’s compound, in this little village the forest appeared to have spread inside the walls unimpeded. In the rich hillside neighborhood the paved alleyways meandered around copses of maples, oaks and fine-leaved hickory, between elaborate flower beds and exotic shrubbery. Even in the merchant district, where she currently lived, bracken and trailing vines embraced the tiny houses, lending them an elegance, a certain natural majesty of their own.

And so here Kurosawa Momo built a new life for herself, a reputation as a high-class tailor and amateur painter, a polite young woman of twenty-one whom everybody liked but no one could tell you very much about.

 

* * *

 

Despite it being a pretty remote village, exciting things still happened in Ashoro, on occasion. At the turn of autumn, one of the Sannin passed through town with a blonde bundle of energy in tow, a loud little boy dressed in far too much orange.

A southerly gale blew into Ashoro not long after their passing - unusual weather for early September - lashing the tall old trees and raising clouds of stinging grit. And, as though driven by these shifting winds, hot on Jiraiya’s heels followed a couple of missing nin, an odd pair swaddled in heavy black robes embroidered with red clouds.

It was part of Mikoto’s job as a tailor to notice unusual fashions - and her former job as a kunoichi to notice unusual people - and the two were certainly memorable. As the duo had passed her on the street she’d caught the younger staring at her with a strange, almost frightened look in his red eyes.

A sharingan bearer! Could this teen have been her clan’s murderer?

Her heart had been racing and she’d had to force herself to keep walking, to act as she normally would, to smother the rising killing intent and to gingerly fold one end of her shawl over her mouth as a ward against the swirling dust, instead of letting red flood her own gaze, instead of taking out a handful of shuriken and launching them at the boy’s throat.

 

* * *

 

It was months before another unusual individual passed through town, this one even odder than the previous travelers.

Mikoto didn’t often indulge in sweets but it had been a bad week, with few clients, which left her with too much time to contemplate the loss of all she’d held dear.

As she nibbled on a dango stick, she couldn’t draw her eyes away from the non-stop chatter of a lithe young man, a masked stranger whose antics seemed painfully familiar. She found herself leaning forward, lips quirked as she watched him engage the seller in a rather one-sided dialogue. At length however, the man stopped to ask.

“Nee, nee, young lady. Does Tobi have something on his face?” he whined, theatrically patting his orange mask.

Her fingers twitched on the dango stick, the only sign that she’d made to reach for a weapon - a very common shinobi reaction to embarrassment, she’d been told. Still, she hoped the movement had gone unnoticed but by the smugness she read in the man’s posture, it seemed unlikely. She could feel her face flushing at having been caught staring - and then reacting so inappropriately too - and she allowed a rueful smile.

“Please forgive my rudeness. I was merely lost in thought. You reminded me of one of my younger cousins… I think he would have been much like you… if he were alive.”

At her words, Obito stiffened, eyes narrowing behind his mask. His raven hair still swayed in the slight breeze but otherwise he'd gone motionless, like a children's toy whose spring had suddenly and inexplicably snapped.

It was such an odd thing to say, Obito mused, though the young woman had likely told the truth. But for all that it seemed a sad confession, he found it worrisome. An instant's movement had him leaning over her, hands fluttering wildly, keeping up the charade, while his eye followed the planes of her face: the full cheeks and large, wide-set eyes, the lightly sloping brows and thin, down-turned lips, her hair and eyes' dark coloring.

"Young lady, young lady… this is so strange, you too remind Tobi of one of his cousins… She would have looked much like you…" he said, leaning backwards and clutching his chest, as though in shock.

"...had she been still alive." Obito finished, a dark note slipping into the otherwise cheerful tone. 

And indeed, she did. She seemed the spitting image of — No, such a thing should have been impossible. He'd plucked the eyes out of her cooling body with his own two hands.

"What is your name, beautiful young lady? Tobi would very much like to know."

A brow rose at such blatant flattery. "Kurosawa Momo. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

"Kurosawa Momo.  _Momo_ , is it?" he idly questioned. Was she really, he mused and his thoughts raced as he quickly considered various ways of gathering more information from the eerily familiar-looking girl.

"Weeell... Tobi is Tobi, Mo-mo-chan." Obito ended with a bow. Mikoto narrowed her eyes at his rudeness.

“Maa, you are being too informal, Tobi-san. Don’t you think?”

“Oh, no! Your words wound poor Tobi, Momo-chan. But Momo-chan is indeed too much of a lady to be treated so casually, yes yes. And Tobi is a good boy. Why, with such a beautiful kimono Momo-chan looks like a real goddess. But young, so _unexpectedly_ young! How strange and exciting!” he exclaimed, hands clapping in time with his words.

“But, oh, Tobi shouldn’t insult a goddess lest he be smitten! Oh, smitten!” he then cried out, throwing his arms around the former kunoichi.

It was a good, heavy weight, sudden but comfortable - and comforting, reminding her of the weight of Kushina’s arm as she talked about everything and nothing in particular, all the while steering her towards whichever ramen stand was nearest, the weight of a squad mate’s arm after a hard mission - and Mikoto couldn’t resist breathing in the smell of well-worn leather and steel.

She shuddered slightly and Obito’s gloved fingers brushed her collarbone before tightening their grip on her shoulder.

“Ooh! Smitten indeed! Only with more thunder and lightning and fewer lovelorn sighs. Hihi... wouldn’t you agree, Momo-no- _ **Mi-ko-to**_ (1)?” he questioned in a playful singsong, giggling.

Mikoto's cheeks had already begun to turn a rosy hue at his teasing by the time all of his words registered. It could have been a joke, and he’d clearly crafted it as such, though it seemed like both an out and a challenge at once. Mikoto forced her muscles to stay loose, forced a smile to her lips. Could this masked nin, this shinobi who displayed no allegiance to any hidden village, really be — Were the rumors untrue? Hadn’t they all been —

Her stomach was in knots as she answered, a tangled ball of fear, curiosity and excitement.

“You are much too kind. But I am no goddess. Let it be Momo-chan then... Only for you, T... _ **obi**_ -san.”

Mikoto’s answer sparked another bout of laughter and he forced her to sway side to side as he capered, his long green scarf whirling around him like a circus performer’s ribbon. The loud, slightly manic guffaw seemed much more natural, which Mikoto found wholly unnerving.

In spite of the delicate grip he had on her shoulders and the careful way in which he skipped and hopped around her, there’d been a sharp, cruel undertone to his laugh, a low, discordant note few people would miss.

“Too late! No take-backs.” Obito declared in Tobi’s high-pitched tone. “Young Momo-no-Mikoto will be Tobi’s new cousin! A _younger_ cousin, who would have thought! It makes Tobi so frightfully, _frightfully_ happy!”

* * *

**OMAKE (your call if you want to take it as story-canon or not)**

Kisame could tell that something was bothering Itachi. His movements were even more tightly controlled than usual and Samehada was growing restless from feeling his partner’s fluctuating chakra.

Unfortunately, their current easy companionship was based on a couple of unbreakable tenets: 1) Itachi didn’t often share and 2) Kisame didn’t often pry. Kisame could talk as much as he chose to, with the clear understanding that Itachi’s replies may or may not be forthcoming.

But the boy had been brooding for the better part of a week now, ever since he’d stopped in the middle of that backwater village to stare at a brunette. Come to think of it, the girl had seemed to be around his age, a pretty young woman decked in extravagant - and undoubtedly expensive - civilian wear, but far from unforgettable. Except that Itachi _did_ seem hung up on her.

“Itachi, you know, if you wanted us to stop for a day or two, to have a bit of fun, all you had to do was say so.”

The Uchiha stopped with a slightly inquisitive look.

“A bit of fun?”

“You know, with that young brunette you seemed so fixed on. I bet a couple of hours in a motel room would have done wonders for both your dispositions.”

Itachi seemed to sway at this and Kisame didn’t understand why his partner’s pale skin took on a slightly greenish tint, why the boy was biting his lips and seemingly making a valiant effort not to retch.

“Kisame.”

“What? You mean you _didn’t_ want to bed her? Take her for a tumble? Knock boots?”

Itachi whimpered.

“You’re a growing boy, Itachi…”

“Kisame. Please. Shut up.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Mikoto is used as a title for Japanese gods.


	3. ...And Plans Made in the Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obito's take on the meeting.

**Chapter 2: ...And Plans Made in the Shadows**

Obito’s fingers were chilly as they brushed against the aged paper of some scrolls while lost in thought. Unlike his rooms in Pein's grandiose tower in Ame, there was nothing lavish about his quarters in the old Mountains' Graveyard refuge.

The bookshelves were little more than rows of square cubbyholes hewn into the rock, looking worn with age, smooth and slightly damp from some unseen water, each darkened corner covered in a fine layer of gray moss. In some of the holes there were small piles of bones as well, picked clean and bearing slight scratches here and there - toothlike marks, faint reminders of Zetsu’s old feedings.

He should have thrown them out ages ago but, Zetsu’s cannibalistic tendencies aside, Obito thought that the bones added that mild, dramatic touch the place needed to keep it from looking like a cheap bandit hideaway.

It was, of course, an improper shelter for Madara’s priceless possessions. Many of the older scrolls were blackened, their chased copper rods covered in a green patina, the heavy parchment slowly decaying from years’ worth of mold and rot.

Obito couldn’t have cared less about the objects themselves, not when Madara had made him memorize the information with his sharingan years before, but he still checked them out of habit sometimes.

He thought that perhaps the Zetsus would see him trailing his fingers over empty shelves one day, still going through the motions as he hatched his plans.

Revealing himself to the brunette had been a gamble.

When he’d overheard Kisame teasing Itachi about a girl, Obito had been honestly baffled. What sort of person could have caught the younger Uchiha’s attention? Retracing the duo’s steps hadn’t been too difficult but the answer had been odd and unexpected: a person who looked much like the boy’s dear, departed mother.

He was still unsure whether Kisame had simply misunderstood or if Itachi’s romantic inclinations were truly that skewed.

He would have shelved the matter for another time and left, if not for the girl’s comment. “ _You reminded me of one of my younger cousins…_ ” she’d said “ _I think he would have been much like you… if he were alive._ ”

And, of course, even that he might have dismissed as unimportant but for her eerie similarity to his own third degree relative (some times removed... but he’d never been focused on tracing back his own lineage, not when all relatives, close or distant, had looked at him with equal disappointment and disdain). The features all matched his cousin’s and the mannerisms, though muted, suggested better breeding than any working class civilian from a backwater village should have possessed.

He paused in his browsing and, under the mask, his lips twitched in a small smile. Her reactions had been very amusing. When he’d teased her, rumpling her expensive-looking clothes, ruffling her carefully coifed hair and seemingly taking no notice of her firmly-pursed lips and overall disgruntled expression… oh, Obito could have so easily believed her an Uchiha. A twenty-something Uchiha Mikoto who had somehow survived the massacre.

She had seemed shocked that he’d figured out her identity, which might admittedly have been a ruse - especially if she’d been under a transformation or one of Orochimaru’s twisted creations - but hadn’t grown defensive. Rather, she had seemed to relax, a curious and excited glimmer in her eye.

“ _Only for you, T... **obi** -san._” she’d replied and no one other than Zetsu - no one alive, at any rate - should have been able to call out his real name.

No one aside from a Mikoto-lookalike apparently, one who hadn't found Obito’s continued living suspicious, only mildly surprising.

He figured that if she hadn’t questioned his survival, the girl mustn’t have known of his first death, only a supposed demise together with the rest of their clan.

And why wouldn’t a twenty-year old Mikoto know of his death unless she hadn’t been in the village to hear of it. It had been well publicised, after all. The Yondaime’s Uchiha student, sacrificing himself for the White Fang’s son during the mission which sparked the end of the war. Uchiha Obito - a _war hero_.

Through whatever means Mikoto had found herself in this place, at this point in time, she appeared to have only passing knowledge of recent events.

Abruptly, he turned away from the old scrolls, but not before flicking aside a handful of bones from the middle shelves, chuckling as they scattered here and there, near the wide wooden desk or under a narrow shaft of light.

He paid them no mind as he paced, four steps in one direction, four in the other. In the evening glow, the human remains gleamed almost gold and beside them, the laughing, black-clad Uchiha was like a particularly malicious shade.

It looked almost odd without them there, Obito mused when his eyes caught the much emptier shelves, but if everything worked out properly, he might need the extra room. Let Zetsu find another way to satisfy his weird hoarding tendencies.

His lips stretched into another smile, softer and somewhat rueful, as he remembered his almost impulsive decision… He’d refrained from killing her.

It had been a moment’s choice, to weigh her possible value against her probable threat. As his arms had curled around her shoulders, as he’d rested his chin in the crook of her neck and felt her warmth seep into his own skin, he’d decided to spare her life.

His actions needed no excuse. She appeared in possession of interesting knowledge - knowledge which could become another powerful tool in his hands -, one he shouldn’t discard out of hand, even if he had to play the part of witless fool to obtain it.

Yes, she was aware of his true identity but there were ways of making sure she wasn’t a liability. What’s more, he’d thought, if trained, this Mikoto might make a useful pawn to throw against Itachi, should the boy’s allegiances ever change.

It was little more than speculation at this point but the fact that she hadn’t automatically returned to Konoha suggested that her loyalties to the village were faltering - perhaps after having heard about the clan’s massacre or the deaths of her former friends.

If he could keep her from discovering his hand in both events, if he could further twist her away from the village...

 

 


	4. Layers

**Chapter 3: Layers**

He made her stand out.

Even now, they walked side by side in name only. He’d threaded his arm through hers some time ago and, as he skipped and twisted one way or another to look at seemingly everything around him, he dragged her along like a doll.

Like in their previous outings, her hair had fallen free of its bindings, flowing around her shoulders like a blue-black shroud, tie long lost. The hem of her dress had gotten snagged in a number of things, from stall corners (when he’d suddenly feigned interest in one trinket or another) to bushes and prickly grasses (when he’d forced her to follow him straight through the shrubbery - “ _Oh! Look, look Mikoto-chan! A **shortcut**!_ ”).

The dress’ light blue cloth was covered in dirt, its sheer organza overlay in tatters and only a lifetime of bowing down to decorum kept any of her distress from showing, at least on her face.

Her fingers were gripping him harshly though, a fine tremor running through the tips. Instead of looking pained, the bastard was laughing.

“Mikoto-chan! Ahh...” he whined, pretending to struggle. “Not in public!”

“Obito-san, please…” she hissed, quickly averting her eyes to the road. Her quiet entreaties only seemed to spur him on.

“Don’t hold me so tightly, Mikoto-chan, it isn’t proper! Whatever will your neighbors think!”

Between the frustration of suddenly being in the center of attention and the emotional challenge of keeping up with a teasing, quick-witted companion, it had taken Mikoto far too many meetings to realize that Obito’s loud, garrulous attitude was just another mask.

She blamed it on having only known him as a child.

The Obito she remembered had indeed been a happy, outgoing boy. However, he’d always maintained an awareness of the general mood. Looking back with an adult’s eyes, his exuberant personality, so unusual for an Uchiha, appeared to have been developed as a shield... against what some might have perceived as a repressive environment.

Mikoto herself had never been too bothered by the clan’s rules nor felt excessively burdened by her family’s expectations. Etiquette lessons had seemed a natural part of growing up with good manners and learning how to behave as appropriate for one’s station in life. Kunoichi training had doubled as playtime in an otherwise sedentary schedule and calligraphy and painting were both things she had enjoyed.

She’d never considered the added formality stifling, but then again, she hadn’t been the most physically active or emotionally demonstrative of people. Not like her younger relative.

Obito’s experiences with their family appeared completely different if the way he was now using his liveliness was any clue. It was a clever facade, she would give him that, but he only wielded this unchecked, childlike joy and wonder as a weapon to fluster, anger or annoy.

As he’d been doing to her ever since they’d met.

If one looked carefully - as Mikoto, much to her shame, almost hadn’t -, after each little show he drew back for an instant, silent and still with repressed excitement, waiting for his act to garner the expected reaction.

It should have made her angry perhaps, the understanding that he’d been playing her for a fool. Instead, she was somewhat ashamed of herself for having been so eager to reconnect with any person from her past.

Still, she wasn’t ready to let him go, even if Obito was proving to be a stranger, one with a devious mind and a penchant for cruel tricks.

It was surprising that she’d never felt or feared loneliness until she’d suddenly had someone to share part of her life with. The thought of cutting these hastily reforged ties made her chest ache, even if Mikoto wasn’t the older cousin Obito obviously remembered or Obito the same happy little boy from her past.

The current situation was untenable, it was true, but she wouldn’t risk him leaving either.

Her previously subtle hints had been ignored so, steeling herself, Mikoto prepared for a more blunt approach. With lips pursed tightly, she waited until they rounded a corner onto a more secluded alley then touched his arm, waiting patiently for an acknowledgement.

* * *

 

“Obito-san.” she whispered as Obito finally paused in his current recounting “There is serious matter that needs discussing. Though we are but familiar strangers, I've so far acted as comes naturally, not as I might have thought it expected of me. Perhaps Obito-san could feel comfortable enough doing the same… even if I might find it strange or unexpected.”

By the way he suddenly turned to face her, he caught her meaning at once. Though when he answered, head cocked to the side, Obito still mimicked Tobi’s shrill, excited voice.

“Oh and what would please sweet Mikoto-chan best?” 

“Obito-san...” she started with a sigh. “Please. This is precisely what I meant.”

As though he hadn't heard her speak, Obito hopped from one foot to the other, worriedly wringing his hands.

“But Tobi is Tobi. How should poor Tobi act if not as himself. Why if Tobi weren't _Tobi,_  he wouldn't be _anyone_. To be Tobi ...or to be no one.” his voice dipped suddenly on the final words, strangled and slightly hoarse.

However, he rallied back admirably.

“Such _perfect_ choices both! And to pick one?! Oh, Tobi can’t tell all by himself!”

“If only it were true.” Mikoto muttered, rubbing her brow as the patience she usually prided herself on, suddenly seemed so elusive.

“Ehhh..”

“Obito-san, no one enjoys being made a mockery of." she chided “I admit, it's taken me a while to see that your antics aren't a true expression of joy but now that I have, to see you persist in it is... extremely aggravating.”

Mutely, he covered the distance between them. To keep some semblance of personal space, Mikoto stepped backwards one step, then another until her back pressed against the wall. Frowning, she placed her palm against his chest to stop his advance.

“Obito-san, we have been happily playing the part of friends, have we not?”

The question seemed to have startled him though he still wouldn't speak.

"Clearly" she insisted, pushing for a reply “neither of us are our counterparts’ perfect mirrors... Hasn’t the pretense grown wearisome? I would like you to feel comfortable enough just being yourself. The person I've seen only glimpses of is perhaps more unkind... I dare say even wicked.” she said, smiling to take the sting out of her words “But I should still like any friendship to be founded in truth, if at all possible.”

She waited.

When at last he spoke, Obito’s voice was much deeper than before, husky and low.

“ _Truth_. When there is no absolute truth but the one born of nightmares. Tell me, Mikoto, could you promise, sight unseen, not to run away like a frightened little lamb regardless of what this ' _truth_ ' entails?” he taunted, hooking a finger under her chin to force her to look him in the eye. The orb inside his orange mask was swirling slowly, suddenly blood red.

“Is it injured pride, bravery or merely curiosity which drives you?” Obito idly questioned. Her breath caught in her throat when he pushed just a step closer, before dipping his head to whisper near her ear.

“Consider perhaps, that I might have been doing you a favor. Even a warped mirror might prove to be the kinder choice.”

By the time she inhaled with a shudder, he was gone.

* * *

 **OMAKE - Layers** **(crack… definitely not story-canon)**

Game night at the Akatsuki tower had ended with Itachi dared by the others to leave Madara barefaced.

After disabling a frightening number of lethal traps, Itachi had managed to slip into the leader’s room while he was sleeping. His hands inched slowly towards the man’s orange mask.

As he quickly lifted it he saw… another mask, this one with black flame patterns over a pale yellow background. Under that was a red and blue kabuki mask. Under that, a green one with pink posies.

By the sixth mask, his hands were sweating. By the eighth, his left eye had begun to twitch. By the tenth, his irises had involuntarily shifted to the mangekyou sharingan.

When he lifted the twelfth mask only to find yet another mask, this one with a crayon drawing of a smiley face, he ran from the room screaming.

On the bed, with his eyes closed, Obito chuckled.

 


	5. Never the Spitting Image

**Warnings:**  Pseudoscience. Also, please don’t take anything Obito says too seriously. He’s a (very) unreliable narrator at this point. Also, slightly disturbed… yeah.

 **Chapter 4** : **Never the Spitting Image**

Agreeing to Mikoto’s request had been a mistake.

He’d been alternately Madara or Tobi for so long that acting as himself had seemed very appealing. (He hadn’t even stopped to consider: who was he anymore?)

But how much fun frightening his cousin had proven to be. Testing the limits of someone’s patience was a familiar pastime and to be sure, Obito wryly mused, casual displays of malice were better at relieving frustration than playing with the other members of the Akatsuki had ever been.

His fingers tapped an uneven beat against his thigh and he frowned. Sitting on Mikoto’s window sill with his chakra suppressed, he watched his cousin rest.

His plans of obtaining Mikoto’s jutsu had be rendered useless. For one, there was no jutsu to be had. It wasn’t a ninja technique which had brought the younger woman to the future but rather a seal, one of Kushina’s crazier inventions, supposedly meant as a last resort when the possibility of a dimensional jump was preferable to death. Presumably, with precisely the right amount of chakra, a person wouldn’t be rejected by their current reality.

The way Mikoto had described it - likely quoting her friend’s explanations - minor variations would be gradually resorbed into the timeline while major variations would peel apart like thin, overly cooked onion leaves. (Most of Kushina’s explanations had tended to involve food and had taken place either before or during meals. They’d also been, much to Mikoto’s embarrassment, liberally peppered by either loud stomach growls or equally loud slurps, sighs and appreciative moans.)

For a minor jump, the changes an individual suffered were so negligible that the person could be seen as indistinguishable across all timelines. There’d be no paradox involved because the energy expended in activating the seal was actually spent in maintaining a homogeneous reality.

If the interference of major events caused the individual’s frequency to propagate through his original reality, multiple timelines separated for a length of time. As the seal held them captive, one reality continued without that person and an infinity others assumed their presence.

When they rejoined a timeline, either the souls merged into the same body or, should too much time have elapsed for the essences to keep resonating at the same frequency, one universe would find itself hosting two slightly different individuals who, in the grand scheme of things, should have been perfectly alike, but now, were not.

All in all, it was nothing he could hope to replicate with his Kamui and certainly nothing useful, as the seal’s intention was to bring the user forward in time, instead of backwards.

No. This hellish reality wouldn’t be fixed by running, he argued. Rin would never see peace if he ran.

Still, he’d allowed himself an instant’s weakness and contemplated the idea of finding a reality where Rin was alive - maybe his age, single perhaps, certainly less enamored with sullen, broody teens.

Then, he’d locked it away. Such pointless wishes had no place in his life. Nothing which might weaken his resolve did. With Madara dead, the burden of the Moon’s Eye Plan rested solely on his shoulders. Rin… and all those who had suffered, Obito thought, they shouldn’t have to see him falter.

All the time and effort he’d invested into making the girl trust him… wasted. Should he dispose of her, he mused, watching her sleep. But no, Mikoto had other uses. The Mikoto he remembered, Fugaku’s docile wife, had been a good-enough jounin. With the help of Madara’s teachings, he could whip this one into shape as well, especially as she seemed desperate to stay in his good graces.

Gazing on the sleeping figure, his lips twisted in a sneer. Her near clinginess was as pathetic as it was endearing. She hadn’t wavered in the face of his ill humor. Oh yes, she’d accepted it with all the grace and poise of a main house sheep, swallowing any complaints at his temper, ignoring any rude remarks. (He loathed admitting how this meekness somehow - always - calmed his foul temper, how her placid demeanor and quiet smiles so often reminded him of his Rin.)

He moved closer with soft, silent steps. Her hair color was all wrong, as was the length… the cheeks slightly too full, the lips too thin. If he breathed in, he wouldn’t be greeted by the sweet smell of freshly washed cotton and dried basil leaves.

Even in sleep she failed him.

In truth, there was little reason for him to be here, at this hour. And yet he couldn’t bear leaving. For hours he watched the slow, rhythmic rise of a silk-covered breast, warring with himself over whether he wanted to see a hand-shaped hole in the middle of her chest or whether he wanted to curl under the blankets, hold her tightly and pretend she was someone else.

 


	6. An Incentive

**Chapter 5: An Incentive**

The performance was reaching its climax. To the left of the intricately drawn backdrop, seven kneeling figures trembled. Their expensive garments were dirty and rumpled, a far cry from the men’s immaculate appearance during the play’s exposition. Under the dramatic lighting, the black and indigo paint highlighted the prisoners’ hopelessness.

Pacing in front of them, a senile-looking old man was nodding to his own words. His hat hung lopsided on his narrow brow, sparse grey hairs slipping from underneath.

“Thy deeds have been proven most foul, thine treachery uncovered!” he was saying, words rising and falling to the rhythm of the drums.

The actor’s forehead was beaded with sweat and his hands shook as he pointed and loudly proclaimed the men’s guilt. They sat in silence, heads bowed to the earth, awaiting the magistrate’s verdict without defending themselves. To the side, the emperor’s council sat equally silent, none coming to the defense of the falsely accused. They watched with half-lidded eyes, unmoved, uncaring.

Mikoto’s frame quivered with tension. The play hit too close to home.

“The life blood of our children, running as crimson rivers on that night, stains thine hands. Honor calls for your deaths.” the magistrate announced.

Mikoto’s hand curled into a fist, clenched around Obito’s sleeve.

“Is this another game, Obito?” she whispered, inwardly cringing at the rawness of her voice.

“I wonder…”

“I’ve asked before and you’ve always evaded my questions. What happened to our clan? Is this your way of giving me some sort of morbid hint?” Her eyes stayed glued to stage, watching the tragedy play out.

“What is it you want to know, exactly? I can only guess at the why.” Obito said nonchalantly. “Perhaps you’d like to know _how_ everyone died. Or are you more interested in _who_ precisely died.”

He’d read her so well. This older Obito obviously remembered a cousin by the same name, but Mikoto hadn’t yet worked out the courage to ask about the other’s death.

Had her counterpart died in that thrice-cursed Iwa dungeon from which she’d barely escaped? Had she survived the war only to fall in the Kyuubi attack or their clan’s massacre? Had she perished during some failed mission or in any number of random ways?

Mikoto shuddered lightly.

Watching the civilian play, with the harsh spotlights shining on the kneeling figures, with the fake swords drawing out even faker blood… it all seemed so horribly real.

The massacre… She wasn’t sure she really wanted to know.

“Not who. What I need to know… How was it all possible? Did the village… did the Hokage order us killed?”

A short, blunt “He did.”

“Then Uchiha Itachi —”

“On his orders, I assume.”

She could feel herself swaying in her seat.

“Why?!” came the desperate question. “We founded Konoha. We —”

“Fear perhaps. We’d always been one of the stronger clans. If Sarutobi thought that his control of Konoha was weakening, our shinobi constantly outshining the others… Well, the Nidaime had little love to spare for the Uchiha. Why should his students be any different?”

“But you survived…” A horrible thought crossed her mind. “Does anyone know about you? Will they come after us?”

He shrugged. “...Who’s to say. You know, I’m in hiding for a reason. I assumed you were too. The only hospitality either of us would find in Konoha is deep in the bowels of the T&I.” Behind his mask, Obito grinned cruelly. “I doubt any but a select few Konoha shinobi could capture me. You, on the other hand… Well, you should definitely keep your current cover.”

She looked worried now - for an Uchiha.

“Visitors still come to Ashoro. Jiraiya of the Sannin himself passed through last year.”

“Interesting…”

“I’ve let my skills slip, Obito. If the wrong person should see my Sharingan…”

“You’ll have to be careful then, won’t you.”

She pinned him with a disapproving look, but he wasn’t bothered. Fear and anxiety still lurked in her gaze.

“Accidents happen.” Mikoto countered “As I said before, if the wrong person should see it.”

“You could always make them disappear.”

She frowned. ‘ _if you had the skills to do it_ ’ remained unsaid but implied.

“Will you help me train, Obito?” she requested almost frantically.

A hand reached out to pat her shoulder, as one would reward a pet after a particularly clever trick. How easy she made it all. He swiftly stifled the chuckles which threatened to erupt and when he spoke, his voice was low and calm, even dispassionate.

“I suppose.”

* * *

 

Mikoto flitted through the room, hastily gathering her weapons. Her cousin had arrived without warning, hours earlier than their agreed meeting time. Still, more practice time could only be a good thing. Especially after her disastrous first week.

He’d watched her go through all the disciplines, nin, gen, tai and shurikenjutsu before declaring her ranged skills acceptable, her speed lacking, her endurance deplorable and her hand to hand abysmal.

Then, with a stern command to pay attention, he’d shared a number of taijutsu forms which her Sharingan had dutifully memorized. In her spare time, she’d worked on her speed and stamina, her flexibility and precision. And yet, unless she kept her distance from him, she still bit the dirt mere seconds after the start of their spars.

Perhaps today would prove different.

* * *

 

“No running. You’ll stay in melee range or I will make you rue each inch you put between us. Now get up. Again.”

* * *

 

“You’re neither a civilian, nor an old woman. Bend. Start over.”

* * *

 

“You still leave too many openings.” he chided, letting his blow connect to her gut. She doubled over, winded, but still had the presence of mind to shout a katon jutsu, earning herself a moment of respite.

“Good, now follow through.”

* * *

 

“If an enemy proves faster” Obito lectured, appearing behind her, hands already releasing a hail of kunai. “you must prove smarter.”

She dodged the ones she could, deflected those she couldn’t, and sent her own batch of shuriken to hold him at bay the precious few seconds she needed to prepare a genjutsu. A second before she finished her seals, he vanished.

“If you can’t prove smarter, well...” he drawled in her ear, flush with her back, the edge of a kunai digging into the skin of her throat.

* * *

 

She bit her lip to keep from groaning. She lay sprawled on the grass, pinned down by the blunt end of Obito’s naginata(1) on her neck and his foot on her back.

“I distinctly remember saying thirty feet. Thirty feet at the most. Do you think you’ll remember it now, Mikoto-chan?”

“Yes.” she ground out, face flushed with anger and embarrassment.

* * *

 

Her fingers flashed through the signs and she was halfway across the clearing by the time Obito's clone registered the hail of shuriken flying from her former position. A couple found their mark and the clone dispelled even as the real Obito appeared behind her, arm extended to strike.

"Focus. You're still too predictable."

She dodged the first three hits and rolled to the side, already speeding through a katon jutsu. She breathed out a foot-wide  ball of flames, for cover more than distraction. The tall grasses withered under the heat and for a precious few seconds, Obito's silhouette was a dark shadow behind the rising smoke.

Mikoto quickly threw a handful of caltrops but didn't dare retreat. In fact, as painful as staying close to melee range proved to be, putting any distance between would only make Obito that much more vicious in tomorrow's session.

Her cousin was insistent that she learn to hold her own in close quarter combat, even though she'd always been a mid to long range fighter and when they both knew that engaging him in a one-on-one taijutsu fight, at her level, was an exercise in futility (almost a display of masochism).

There was no time to rig any more traps and Mikoto quickly adjusted her stance, defensive and low. Twenty minutes gone. Her breaths were fast and shallow, heart beating a frantic tap-tap-tap. Where was he? Her eyes flicked from one side to side, Sharingan working to locate her cousin's chakra.

She sensed him an instant before he struck, too little time to avoid the incoming blow.

"Mind your sides" Obito tonelessly instructed. His leg connected with her ribs and she was thrown forward, rolling through the grass. Ahh! Her cheek scraped against the dirt, sharp pebbles digging into the skin and she withheld a cry. She breathed in. A hand grasped for purchase and the other dug inside her weapons pouch. As she breathed out, she flicked her wrist.

"And work on your landings." came Obito's mildly spoken suggestion as he brought out his kusarigama and almost indifferently deflected Mikoto's explosive kunai.

The seals activated mere inches from his body and Mikoto's Sharingan immortalized the sight of his black-clad form surrounded by fire.

A tiny smirk pulled at his lips and, against the flames, Obito's scarred face twisted into something darkly alluring.

Her eyes widened slightly. ' _Beautiful._ ' But this wasn't the time to admire him.

As she hurried to put some distance between them (the most he'd allow, which was still far too little for her tastes), Obito strode between the flames at a languid pace, sickle thrown forward and she quickly slid under the weapon's chain and curled inwards, away from his fist. (After so many hours spent recovering from their spars Mikoto knew better than to try blocking. Not when her attacks passed harmlessly through Obito's body even as his own connected painfully with her back or sides, whichever area she'd thought most protected.)

A couple of finger twitches brought out another batch of shuriken, held at the ready for the instant when he rematerialized. He drove her backwards through the grass, trying to herd her towards the eastern wall of her back yard, the unofficial boundary of their sparring arena - and the edge of the area-wide genjutsu which protected them from prying eyes.

She ducked under a punch. Spun under the following kick then rolled around him, crouched low.

Her stance was full of openings and she prayed that he’d take the bait. When he brought his sickle to strike, she tilted just slightly to the side, taking the hit.

This was it! The metal scraped loudly against her armguard and a single one of her shuriken bit into Obito's gloved hand.  

As one, they stopped the bout.

Though she was swaying lightly, clutching her ribs and favoring her right leg, Mikoto's wide smile was filled with satisfaction.

Obito rolled his eyes. "At last."

He ripped out the throwing star and threw it aside, then casually inspected the tear. The glove was ruined but only the faintest scratch marred the skin. ‘ _Still_ ’, Mikoto thought ‘ _had we been using poison._ ’

"Four months and here we are. Well done, Mikoto-chan." He turned to leave. "Perhaps tomorrow we might speak about meeting some new friends."

He raised his arm in a half-hearted wave and slowly vanished from sight.

As the wind picked up, the tall, lightly singed grasses whistled as they bent.

‘ _I got a hit in._ ’ Mikoto chanted giddily. ‘ _I got a hit in._ ’

She settled down on the grass and laughed and laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Obito showed some degree of proficiency with Madara’s battle fan during the Fourth Shinobi War so he was presumably trained (by Madara) in handling pole weapons. However, he wouldn’t bring such a distinctive weapon when teaching a tentative ally. He brought a naginata instead.
> 
>  **AN:** When Mikoto arrived in the new timeline, she’d been as a B-rank shinobi to Obito’s S-rank. Now that he’s whipped her into shape, she’s more of an A-rank ninja. In keeping with old!Mikoto’s skills, young!Mikoto won’t suddenly become a badass. That doesn’t mean she won’t get to have some fun. :)
> 
>  **AN2:** It's no secret that comments often keep the muses fed and I'd love to hear your thoughts on the story so far.


	7. New Tasks and New Partners

**Chapter 6: New Tasks and New Partners**

Obito was curious how Mikoto would handle her first unofficial mission for the Akatsuki. He’d sat her down for a briefing moments ago, providing his cousin with all the details her new contract entailed.

As expected of a formerly loyal shinobi, she’d accepted the mission without batting an eye, even when informed that she was to recover the bounty of a Kumo missing nin. He’d normally have had Pein assign the mission to Kakuzu and Ryuuichi(1) - as with most bounties - but he was curious to see how Mikoto performed against a jounin-level opponent with minimal support.

A single White-Zetsu would act as her partner while a couple more were to monitor her unseen, under orders to intervene only in case of an emergency. Zetsu had been easily convinced that losing a pair of Sharingan in perfect condition wasn’t something they could afford, but Obito inwardly admitted to worrying somewhat about the girl herself.

He wondered if this concern was normal. She had a way of evoking a host of unpleasant emotions, greed and shame foremost among them. His conscience had woken up only in brief instants during the past decade, sleeping contentedly the rest of the time.

With Mikoto though, sometimes he felt twinges of guilt at depriving her of the opportunity of living in the relative safety of Konoha. But every time he thought of letting her go, it was as if a fire lit in the pit of his stomach.

Here he was, the closest thing to a Clan Head the Uchiha still had (even if Itachi and Mikoto were unaware of the other’s presence) and it was a heady feeling.

As a child, his clan had been almost universally disdainful of his (loudly stated) desire of becoming Hokage. Mikoto had been one of the few of his older cousins whose attitude he’d considered positive.

In his immaturity, he’d mistaken her apathy towards his antics for approval. It had earnt the erstwhile Mikoto some measure of affection on his part... and perhaps some misplaced feelings of good will still lingered. However, he still found the current situation hilarious.

Seeing her quietly and respectfully accepting the assassination contract as though she were a Konoha shinobi reporting to the Hokage for assignment (instead of a supposedly dead Uchiha colluding with another supposedly dead Uchiha to murder a stranger for money) he wanted to burst out laughing.

In fact, he felt like digging up all the clan elders and laughing in their rotting faces. Here was the daughter of the former clan head taking orders from the dead last of the Uchiha clan with nary a trace of embarrassment.

A few chuckles escaped him and Mikoto’s head tilted in confusion. Her face was still impassive and she patiently waited to see if an explanation for his behaviour would be forthcoming. He was suddenly reminded of the times when her counterpart’s son had fixed him with the very same expression (or lack thereof).

The thought of Itachi managed to sour his mood. With Sasuke’s defection from the Leaf, his agreement with Itachi - to not attack or interfere with the village - was getting tenuous and Obito worried about what Itachi might do to force him to hold to the agreement even in his brother’s absence.

But that was a matter for another time.

“Do you have any questions, Mikoto-chan?”

“No, Obito.”

“Well then, your partner for this mission will meet you tomorrow evening on the eastern outskirts of Chibu. He will guide you to the target’s last known location in Yu no Kuni(2).” he hesitated slightly before adding in a bored voice “The mission doesn’t technically have a time limit but I do hope you’ll be back in Ashoro within two months.”

His cousin nodded gravely. “Understood.”

* * *

 

The new girl smelled like green peas and bittersweet linden sap, a tempting scent which made Zetsu want to nibble on her, see if the flesh tasted just as bittersweet. But Obito had forbidden them from touching Mikoto-san (or even speaking to her outside mission parameters - which was ridiculous really… were they to travel in silence for months?) And even Dokuzetsu(3) had agreed that she was to be left alone (unless she tried to betray them) so here they were, stuck walking next to a mouthwatering mystery. To add insult to injury she strode through the greensward with light, careful steps, disturbing but the barest of stalks. They couldn’t even hate her for destroying the plants.

How did people deal with this?! There were so many things they wanted to ask her that Dokuzetsu hadn’t allowed them to ask Konan-san and that Obito had adamantly refused to answer. They fairly quivered with nervous energy as they walked beside her, forcing themselves to stare ahead instead of fixing their eyes on their temporary partner. They had become so attuned to her presence that every brush of her cloak against the tall grasses sounded like nails scratching on glass. They felt like gnashing their teeth. The little brunette was a treasure trove of information, right at their fingertips, and they weren’t allowed to ask questions.

They could feel their lips twist in a pout and any other day the thought of such a human reaction coming to them naturally would have definitely cheered them up - but not today. Not after walking for hours next to this woman who smelled like green peas and bittersweet linden sap. Turning their head just slightly in their companion’s direction, Zetsu took another deep breath. Their fingers twitched inside the long sleeves and they barely suppressed a moan of impatience.

Why wouldn’t the woman talk already? Zetsu wondered if staring at her would prompt her to speak. When they did it to Obito, the man would either demand they start talking or try to kill them (or sometimes kill them after they’d already asked about whatever was bothering them - he’d become such a cruel, heartless boy).

But surely his new partner wouldn’t be as violent. Weren’t humans supposed to be social creatures anyway? Where was the desire to communicate? They’d been walking for hours... Was this one as broken as Sasori or Kakuzu? That would be intolerable! How were they supposed to learn anything new if there was no one to seek answers from. Some of their questions were years old already!

Mikoto-san must have sensed their growing restlessness because she stopped to say “You seem distressed, Zetsu-san. Is there anything I could do to help?”

At last! If Mikoto-san offered, of course they couldn’t refuse and hopefully she’d settle some of their burning curiosity.

“We thought you’d never ask! Please tell us, Mikoto-san, what do breasts _feel_ like?”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Random partner Kakuzu ends up killing
> 
> (2) Yu no Kuni - Land of Hot Water
> 
> (3) Dokuzetsu (Wicked Tongue) is Zetsu’s name for Black-Zetsu.
> 
> **AN1** : This chapter wasn’t supposed to happen but Obito and Zetsu almost wrote themselves. I thought Kakuzu was going to be the first Akatsuki member she’d meet but Zetsu just barged right into the plot, sat himself in the middle and refused to leave. It was completely unexpected… but pretty fun trying to find the right tone for his character. The actual mission is going to be in the next few chapters then.
> 
> **AN2** : White-Zetsu without Black-Zetsu to balance him out is a very silly… construct… or… mutated human rather. White-Zetsu even refer to themselves as Jouzetsu (Chatterbox) so I think they’d be as silly (and their questions as inappropriately weird) as the original Spiral/Tobi.
> 
> Also, I figured White-Zetsu might refer to themselves in plural (if the company wouldn’t be freaked out) since they can communicate with each other (similarly to a hive-mind) so what was experienced by one body could potentially be shared with all of them. Besides, at this point… they’re really neither male nor female.


	8. Bearing Witness

**Warning** : I think Zetsu should just have his own warning tag…

* * *

 

**Chapter 7: Bearing Witness**

He blinked the sweat out of his eyes and shivered. If he was sweating, why did he feel so cold? Shock, Toka supposed. It fit.

The air shimmered in the late summer heat and slowly the gates of Konoha flickered into view. At last! They’d been following the forest edge for half a day now, walking at a pace even civilians might have considered unreasonably slow.

It was the best they could manage.

Hanako had wrapped both their injuries but the wounds were still there, the hunger too. Their muscles felt the strain of the past few weeks and their chakra was dangerously low. With his uninjured hand Toka scratched at a dirty cheek, flaking off some of the dried blood (whether his own or his enemies’... he couldn’t tell).

The more he scratched, the harder his skin seemed to itch and he forcefully stilled his fingers before he could finish rubbing his face raw.

He was still twitchy, his mind on high alert, even though the battle was long over and his body had no way of keeping up with everything his mind was trying to process.

He stumbled and nearly fell, knocking into Hanako. Not only didn’t his teammate dodge but she gave no sign of noticing the sudden bump. He guessed it still hadn’t sunk in yet, for either of them. They were going home… With a failed mission, of course, but alive. ‘ _Failed mission_ ’ - the words sounded wrong somehow. As if everything they’d gone through in the past fortnight could ever be summed up into two words.

The string he’d been winding around his finger snapped. Almost absentmindedly, he caught another one from the shirt’s collar. He fiddled with the hem to keep from scratching his cheek. It was fraying. He’d have to get his mother to fix it for him, if she was there when they made it home. When, not if… they’d probably make it the rest of the way.

Toka stopped to consider it.

As he swayed slightly from side to side, he looked like a propped up corpse, swaying in the wind. His whole posture seemed to droop under the burden of a small pack, under the weight of his own clothes even. With a muffled gasp of surprise - as if she’d only just realized her companion’s absence beside her - Hanako too had frozen still. Her frame trembled and, wide-eyed, she stared back, silently urging him onwards.

They were a pitiful sight, a couple of starved, battered teens shivering under the boiling midday sun.

“Coming, coming…” Toka grumbled and resumed walking with odd, shuffling steps (about the only sort he could manage at this point). He rubbed his hands, wincing when the motion sent spikes of pain through his left shoulder. Despite the stifling heat wilting everything around them, he still felt cold, chilled even.

A dry twig snapped under his sandals and Hanako flinched.

“I’m –” he started saying but the apology stuck in his throat. And really, what was there to say? ‘ _I’m sorry you had to see that… I’m sorry I had to see it too._ ’ or ‘ _I’m sorry if I let you down. I wish we could have killed them ourselves… and the people who saved us too… the ones who ate Yoru._ ’

* * *

 

‘ _Report directly to the Hokage’s office._ ’ It was standard protocol in case of team casualties, mission failure (or both, as was their case). Still, he couldn’t help but twitch under the Godaime’s intense gaze. His cheek stung and he realized he’d still been scratching it. Heat rose in his cheeks but the Lady Hokage’s stern voice forced him to focus.

“The medics tell me that Satou-san is expected to make a full recovery. She’ll be kept under observation for the next forty-eight hours but if no further problems present themselves your teammate will be discharged on Monday, with certain provisions.”

Toka’s shoulders sagged in relief but the Hokage wasn’t finished.

“I’ll be expecting her report by the 30th. Until then though, why don’t you tell me, what exactly happened out there?”

He blinked slowly, once, twice. She expected him to report? Now?! He didn’t even know how to begin… From the moment they left, joking and carefree, happy to have snagged such an easy C-rank… from the moment they’d discovered the client’s treachery… or the horrifying instant of Yoru’s death.

He licked his lips and tried to put his thoughts into some semblance of order.

“We– we accepted a mission... three weeks ago” he started uncertainly, looking between the Hokage and her assistant “I– I think it’s been three weeks…”

“Shizune.” the Hokage interrupted, raising a finger in a signal to have him wait.

“That’s correct, Tsunade-sama. Team forty-two accepted a C-rank mission on the 23rd of August to deliver a set of four sealed scrolls to Samegawa village in Yu no Kuni bearing a total of 520 clothes of various sizes from one of Konoha’s civilian manufacturers, the Maki family. The mission was requested by Nakamura Hideo of Samegawa.”

Toka snorted, drawing back the Hokage’s gaze.

“It was all a trick…” he whispered, scratching his cheek and wincing when his nails pulled at the sore skin. “The mission, I mean. We arrived at Nakamura’s house late in the evening. The lights were off but Yo– yoru didn’t want to wait till morning. So we decided to knock. This tall, reedy looking man answered and quickly ushered us inside. Hanako, she had just finished signing that she sensed a genjutsu when someone knocked me out…” his voice trailed off and he shuddered. “When I… when I came to, it was just Hanako and me… but we could hear the screams… Yoru’s screams.”

He groaned when his head spiked in pain. His hand flew to his temple, fingers rubbing slow circles. With a look at the Hokage’s grim face, he forced himself to continue. “...They told us later, bragged about it… How the boss, Toyama Sho… Sho-something, made money.”

“Shizune.”

Frowning, Shizune searched through the Bingo Book. “There’s one Toyama Shoichi if I recall, Tsunade-sama.”

“That’s the name.” Toka agreed with a nod.

“Here it is… Toyama Shoichi, A-rank nuke-nin, former Kumogakure no Sato jounin. Went rogue roughly three years ago. Specializes in bōjutsu, lightning and earth release techniques. Kumo’s bounty for him is 3 million ryo, dead or alive.” Shizune rounded the desk to show him the picture but he just shook his head.

“I only saw him once he was dead and he–”

“Dead?”

“Yes… the ones who freed us. That woman took him and he was facing away. I didn’t…”

“Wait. Continue from the moment you were captured. I assume this woman comes in later.”

“Yes. It was just the two of us for… over two weeks, I guess. Yoru…. I don’t know if they interrogated him, what he might have told them or not… But about four days later they dropped him... in our cell. They killed him.” he ended in a whisper. He rubbed at his eyes, hastily wiping the tears.

“They took Hanako after that a‒and when they brought her back, she wouldn’t talk to me anymore. She just sat there… blank eyed.”

He scratched the back of his neck. Why did he have to talk about it? He didn’t want to talk about it… A fine tremor ran through his fingers and he still felt so very, very cold.

“The strangers came not a day later… We heard the fighting first. Our… captors’ yells to get it together and their screams when one more of them got injured. I couldn’t hear what jutsus were called out, but our door shuddered and flames licked under it more than once. After an hours or so… everything fell silent. And then she opened our door.”

“She?’

“The woman. Round twenty, brunette, black-eyed and pale-skinned, dressed in this long black cloak with red‒”

“Clouds?” the Hokage assistant hastily interrupted him, half-risen out of her seat.

“Shizune!”

He looked between them, confused.

“...Yes. Red clouds. Splattered with blood too. She took a long look at us and even though she looked disinterested, this pressure seemed to hit us - killing intent, but I wouldn’t say it had been aimed at us. Still, it was so hard to breathe that I almost didn’t see her coming closer till she held Hanako’s chin in her hand and seemed to be inspecting her. She asked us ‘ _Konoha-nin, are you?_ ’ in this bored voice… but Hanako nodded a-and the woman let her go. Just turned to walk out...” his voice conveyed his disbelief and he shook his head, as if he still couldn’t believe that such a thing had happened.

“I asked her if we could leave as well and she just shrugged without turning around. _‘Do as you like. Scurry back to Konoha if you feel like it… even though they didn’t come for you.’_ I remember helping Hanako stand and we both tried to pick… to pick Yo‒yoru up. Then this other guy rose from the ground and grabbed him when we jumped backwards. _‘Your teammate is dead.’_ he’d said _‘He’s useless to you but very useful to us.’_ I know I shouted something… I think I asked him what he could possibly find Yoru useful for and he just… gr‒grinned and replied that they were… very hungry and that _‘the boy, your Yoru’_ still had plenty of unsoiled me‒meat.”

Toka’s hands pressed against his mouth then, as he tried not to retch. Even the Hokage looked slightly disgusted while her assistant’s complexion had acquired a greenish tint.

“Hanako jumped to tackle him and I tried to hold her back. He just laughed and… and swatted us both aside like… like flies. His hands went around our necks and he squeezed, still smiling _‘She felt like letting you go so I won’t kill you just yet. We’ve been told it’s bad for teamwork to go against your partner’s wishes. But you really shouldn’t waste the time you’ve got left by annoying the wrong sort, should you?’_ I tried to nod but I couldn’t breathe. I must have blacked out because when I woke up they were both gone… with Yoru too. When I managed to wake Hanako up, we walked out… it was a massacre out there. Over ten men, all cut and burnt. We left Samegawa as fast as we could.” he said, rubbing his forehead with a lightly trembling hand.

“Headache?” the Hokage asked him with a frown, exchanging a quick glance with her dark-haired assistant.

He nodded and Shizune came forward, the green glimmer of a diagnostic jutsu lighting her hand.

“His chakra’s still very low, Tsunade-sama, and he’s badly dehydrated. They’ve fixed his shoulder and leg but those should still be sore for a week or two. Nothing to explain the headache… Your cheek though, the redness and minor blisters, it looks almost like an allergic reaction. Toka-san, did they do your blood work?”

“I… no. They asked me if I was poisoned and I said no… and‒”

“Tsunade-sama?” Shizune interrupted.

At the Hokage’s nod, Shizune began scribbling down a note “I recommend you return to the hospital right away, Toka-san.” she stated firmly, as she handed him the tiny paper square. “ Please give this to Ito Rei.”

“The rest of your report can wait until we’ve settled this.” the Hokage added “Dismissed.”

* * *

 

Walking seemed so hard… breathing too. Everything seemed hard really, what with this pounding headache and blasted itch. He stopped on a rest on a bench and scratched at his cheek until he could feel blood welling up under his nails. Some distant corner of his mind urged him to stop but his fingers wouldn’t listen, gouging the flesh, over and over.

When an angry scream tore through his throat, the civilians just glanced at him fearfully and walked faster. By the time the first shinobi approached the slumped over teen with the freely bleeding face, Toka was dead.

* * *

 

In the hospital, Hanako’s vitals faltered a couple of times, then flatlined.

* * *

 

“It was a dangerous thing you did, Mikoto-san.” Zetsu whined, dragging a hand through Mikoto’s hair as she sat near the campfire. “Letting those Konoha-nin go.”

“They shouldn’t have had to die in that dungeon, forgotten. Besides, you didn’t really let them go, did you, Zetsu-san?”

“Hehe-hehe.” His high-pitched giggle rang loudly in their cave. “You know me so well already, Mikoto-san. I guess I didn’t, did I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN1:** Poor Toka… allergic to Zetsu spores and they still didn’t catch it.  
>  **AN2:** Hugs to WindSage for all the bijuu-size comments. Even just talking about random parts of the story helps move things along so much faster. :)


	9. A Precious Package

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter than usual. Love you all

**Warning** : Canon-level violence and minor character death; I think this should just become a standing disclaimer (otherwise it’s just a spoiler).

* * *

  **Chapter 8: A Precious Package**

 

Plink. Plink.

Plink. Plink.

The steady sound of raindrops hitting the rusting metal awning of Pein’s office windows created a perfect counterpoint to the irregular rasp of his brush and the light crackle of documents being piled on higher on other carefully stacked documents.

The running of a village never stopped and even under his own command, with the healthier administrative system he’d installed after taking over Hanzou, sometimes the paperwork seemed unending.

Plink. Plink.

A black and white body morphed from the carpeted floor. Soundlessly, Zetsu rose to a stand in front of his desk and the white half greeted him with a slight smile.

“Leader-san. Terrible weather you’ve got here. As usual.”

“Zetsu.” he acknowledged without raising his head. His eyes traced over a weapon merchant’s request to set up a shop in one of the villages bordering Wind Country.

If Zetsu had anything important to mention, the black half would take over. Only then was it worth paying attention to them.

Hmm. The paperwork had all been carefully filled out and with such a high cut of the merchant’s profit, it seemed like an favourable scheme for Ame (at a first glance). But weapons sold to Wind would invariably end up in Sand nin hands and depending on the merchant’s true allegiance, either Ame might make a profit or be deprived of armaments at worst moment.

He made a note to send a couple of shinobi to investigate this trader and picked up the next sheet.

“Wouldn’t you like us to close the windows, at least? **Quiet. There’s an item we need to acquire. A two-pronged implement that’s said to be capable of detecting even minute amounts of bijuu chakra** \- any chakra with a high-enough toxicity really - **an unavoidable side-effect.** We’ve managed to find out that Iwa has it at the moment. **Madara wants it retrieved without Iwa suspecting outside interference, especially from… unaffiliated elements.** ”

Pein nodded. Iwagakure knew them as one of the foremost mercenary companies without allegiance to any one village and, at this point, it still benefited the Akatsuki to be able to move within Earth Country’s borders without opposition.

“Yes, at this point, free passage is still a necessity.” the path agreed.

“Not to mention the missions we still receive **when their own men are too incapable to carry them out.** ”

“Unfortunately, most of our members are too well known and too busy for a successful long-term mission. Out of all of them, you are our most capable infiltrator.” Pein said leadingly.

“We have other orders to carry out at the moment **which cannot be delayed for such a long while.** ” Zetsu said in a biting tone “ **And this assignment can’t be left in the care of a simple clone.** Heey!”

“I see.” He tried not to frown. Madara was playing his cards close to his chest - as always. He would have been more surprised had Zetsu actually shared any information regarding his own orders.

“Then having a Rock nin carry out the deed would be best. I will contact Sasori and have him place some of his own people in position. It will take a while, but while Iwa’s two jinchuuriki are nowhere to be found, we must pass unimpeded and unquestioned.”

“ **Madara will be kept updated.** ”

“Of course.”

* * *

 

The mission assignment office in Iwa had seen better days. The desks were kept in good condition and the shinobi manning them appeared professional enough but throughout the years the room itself had suffered much from genin’s impatience and jounin’s boredom. Its curving white-washed walls were pockmarked by tiny kunai holes driven in just the right positions to spell a number of rude comments or jokes and the low ceiling was scarred by the various techniques the Rock shinobi had released in frustration at waiting in the oftimes lengthy queues.

The jounin had a betting pool going on when the Tsuchikage would finally have enough of his ninja’s antics and use his famous dust release to level the whole room (with them in it). After nearly two decades, the pool was high enough to leave an elite few settled for life (and still the jutsu and kunai marks endured).

First in line at one of the corner desks, a non-descript kunoichi was listlessly waiting for her own assignment.

“C-rank? Hmm, let’s see… The only C-rank suitable for solo completion is this. Chunin Sumiko, you are to deliver this package to the Artifact Repository and hand it to Niwa Sakiko-sensei or her assistant Kodama Ryo.” the other shinobi droned as he flipped through the mission registry.

“This is a priority assignment so upon receiving the item you are to transport it with due haste.” He eyed the mousy-looking woman who was already waiting with her hand outstretched. “That means now.”

“Yes, yes, Taro.” she dismissed his concerns with a negligent wave. “Hand it over. Are we still on for lunch? A new restaurant’s opened up near the foundry district park and Gorou says it’s to die for. Something about their shrimp. I wasn’t really paying attention” Sumiko admitted with a shrug “but I know you’re a fan of seafood so I thought we might as well give it a try.”

This new topic seemed to have renewed her energy and, against his will, Taro’s lips curled in a lopsided smile. “Tch. You can’t just jump straight to whatever you want to talk about, Sumiko-chan. How are you planning on making jounin with that apathetic attitude?”

“I’ve been waiting in this damn queue for ages.”

“It was twenty-minutes at most. I noticed when you walked in.” he countered, crossing his arms with a huff.

“Eh, you noticed me…” She grinned. “Good to know. So, lunch?”

“You really should handle your missions more seriously, Sumiko-chan.” he tried scolding her then coughed to cover up a laugh. “But yes, my shift ends at three.”

Sumiko’s answering smile and wink made his ears redden and he held onto the package an instant longer than necessary.

With his thoughts already on the date, he missed the way Sumiko’s eyes grew unfocused and the minute tightening of her fingers as a previously dormant seal slowly came to life. Her stride grew purposeful and as she walked out of the office, goals and priorities shifting to fit the new mind.

When she stepped into the busy street, Sumiko had forgotten all about her crush and her loyalty to the village and was focused on how she could best deliver the item to Sasori-sama without being stopped.

* * *

 

Leaving the village was easy.

Her colleagues had sneered and simply waved her off when Sumiko had stopped at the gates, red-faced, bedraggled and out of breath, patting her clothes as if looking for a mission scroll and claiming to be oh so horribly late.

It wasn’t until she was several hours away from the Hidden Village that she sensed the ANBU closing in. She had neither the speed nor the stamina to outrun them and a fight was out of the question. Her package needed to arrive either at Sasori-sama or one of his allies. A split-second decision had her slipping into the nearby town. Camouflaged, she made her way to the red light district.

Applying a hint of chakra to her hands and feet, she scaled the walls until she found a room empty of both worker and client.

It was a sad little place, with a dirty bed taking up most of the floor and barely enough space to stand in. Everything, from the aged pillowcases, the frayed quilt to the drapes, seemed covered in the pungent blend of cheap perfume, stale sweat and long-dried discharge.

She smirked. The mix would be perfect for hiding her own smell from her trackers and with this thought in mind, Sumiko hastily rifled through the whore’s closet, stealing a gaudy orange kimono, a pair of geta and a sash.

Clutching her new-found treasures, she jumped back to the darkened alley and then hurriedly rounded the building. At the back, piled against the walls, heaps of refuse had tumbled out of a pair of overflowing skips. A pair of scruffy, soot-coloured kittens were fighting over a rat’s carcass and she snorted, hoping it wasn’t an omen. The limp body swung from side to side as the little fighters clawed at each-other, hissing and yowling. Surrounded by rubbish and animal waste, she quickly stripped out of her gear and into the sex-worker’s former garments. By the time she was done, the kittens’ tug-of-war had ended with the loser slinking off, hungry and injured.

With a slight moue of disgust Sumiko slipped everything but Sasori-sama’s precious package under a pile of rotting food. Then, she consciously smothered her chakra and stalked out the back-alley with a seductive sway of her hips.

* * *

 

The tavern was crowded tonight, full to the brim with rowdy drunks looking for a good time and garishly-painted whores looking for a good pay. It was hard to be heard over the din, which was perfect for Jiraiya’s purpose.  

From his spot at the back of the room, he observed the rest of the patrons while listening to his informant’s latest update. Grass had been quiet in the wake of Orochimaru’s retreat. Wherever his hideouts were actually located, people weren’t talking. The information Sora-chan had gleaned was meagre and old (two of the most terrible things for information to be).

Just as he was about to call it a night and return to Naruto and his hotel room, he noticed someone that didn’t fit. At a nearby table, one of the girls, a brunette with sharp-looking eyes and not enough greed in her gaze was herself scanning the room. When their eyes met she let very little slip. But it was enough for him.

Plastering a wide smile on his face, he made to rise and the motion alone was enough to have the girl dashing from her seat and out the door. A spy! Whose? And how much had she heard?

He was after her in a flash.

* * *

 

  
She’d somehow managed to flee the Sannin by drawing him into a pack of Rock ANBU and screaming ‘ _Alright! Let’s do our best and get them together, Jiraiya-sama!_ ’.

Five of the team had stayed to confront the Sannin while one other was still chasing her through the woods and gaining on her fast. Sumiko had the feeling she was being herded towards something. A shiver ran up her spine as she took a moment to rest against a tree. There was something there... inside! Panicked, she sprinted onwards.

A few seconds later, a pale face rose from the bark.

“Eh, left so soon. That one’s chakra… part of it was so familiar... Could that have been Sasori’s spy? Hmm...”

Slipping back into the tree, the Zetsu clone stretched his limbs to connect to the plant roots. As quickly as he could, he sent his message to the others. Some miles south his sibling - who’d been Mikoto’s companion for the past month and a half - stopped to listen.

“Mikoto-chan. We may have a friend dropping by soon… with company.”

“Here?” Mikoto asked in slight confusion. They’d left Kusagagure’s carefully disguised bounty station hours ago and were currently walking up a grassy knoll in the middle of nowhere. How would anyone know where to find them?

Her companion chuckled. “We might have more success if we walk north for a while, north-west even.” Then, he grew serious. “What they bring us... It’s essential that we keep it safe.”

Mikoto nodded grimly. “Very well.”

* * *

 

“Tch. What a horrible old man, to be moving around so much.” Kisame grumbled as the Akatsuki pair descended into a narrow valley where Roushi, the Yonbi jinchuuriki, was said to pass through (on occasion).

Itachi’s answering silence didn’t seem to discourage him.

“You at least know exactly what the Kyuubi brat looks like.” Kisame continued “All I’ve got are half-faded photographs from nearly a decade ago.”

His woes still poured out in a litany of complaints, when Itachi abruptly stopped.

“What is it, Zetsu?” the Uchiha demanded and Kisame turned to look at the tree from which Zetsu had partially risen.

“ **Two Rock ANBU teams are tracking an Akatsuki agent holding a package Leader wants.** They might have gotten it already. **You’re to move south to the forest leading out of Hellfire gorge and intercept them in case they seize the package.** ”

“Understood.”

“Tch. We’re seriously going back now?”

* * *

 

Obito was reviewing an expansion plan with Pein inside the latter’s office when Zetsu sprung from one of the walls.

“Good news and bad news, Madara-sama.” the white half sing-songed before his counterpart rudely interjected “ **The package made it out of Iwa** … in the hands of this really twitchy woman **with a couple of ANBU teams on her tail.** ”

“Recover it.” Obito deadpanned “Which of our teams is in the area?”

“Weeell… **We let Itachi and Kisame know they should head south.** ”

“Good.” He turned back to the map before Jouzetsu piped up again.

“And of course there are the others who just turned in Toyama Shoichi’s bounty, we told them too.”

A wave of killing intent flooded the room, but Obito’s words were slow and measured when he asked “Oh, you sent _the others_ against two teams of ANBU?”

“They should be useful enough as a distraction… **They were the closest. We can’t afford to lose the package, can we?** ”

The silence grew deafening as Obito’s angry stare met Zetsu’s impassive gaze. At length, Obito turned to Pein and sighed.

“Foolish.” he said lowly “There are problems that need solving, it seems. We’ll finish this later, Nagato.”

The path’s eyes narrowed in curiosity but he nodded and whispered a ‘ _Madara-san_ ’ as the masked man vanished from sight.

* * *

 

A brush of blazing hot air had the cat-masked shinobi leaping backwards with a curse.

Mikoto's fire dragon reared over him, its burning scales setting the underbrush alight. It sped around the trunks and the Iwa nin dodged another volley of burning shuriken while flashing through the hand-seals.

" _Doton: Doryuuheki!_ " An earth wall sprung between them just as the dragon's blazing mouth released an ear-splitting roar and its spiked tail crushed into the rock. Before the wall could crumble, he slipped underground.

Meanwhile, Mikoto blocked another hit from one of the cat ANBU's teammates and slid beneath the other's sword. Too close. A couple of hairs fluttered to the ground as the very tip of the sword brushed against her cheek and she rolled forward, cutting the neck of the nin still trapped in her genjutsu.

A gust of air warned her to substitute and she flashed to a nearby branch in time to avoid the thick earth spear which surged from her former spot.

Leaves scattered as she blew another fireball and then jumped over a sword strike and planted her foot into the ANBU's shoulder. He fell off the branch but the tiger-mask swiped at her leg and she landed with a freely bleeding gash. Damn it all! Her breathing was laboured as she was forced backwards, dodging and trying to conserve her strength.

They were outnumbered, outmatched and the thought was making her quiver in rage.

What had that stupid woman been thinking, letting herself be followed by two ANBU patrols?! The Sharingan spun she tracked the others' movement. A couple of quick substitutions had her closer to Zetsu, whose fight was still looking undecided. She parried a couple of fast blows and then spun around a tree, letting the hail of kunai embed into the bark.

The ANBU followed her retreat.

Zetsu had seemed to know what the madwoman meant, at least. He hadn’t batted an eye when she’d burst into the clearing, took one look at them and began screaming about their cloaks, dawn and taking some package to some lord Sasori.

“Backup?!” she hissed at one of Zetsu’s clones when she could. Her Sharingan caught a flicker of a shadow from above and she flipped sideways before the deadly downwards strike could connect.

“We’re working on it.” the albino yelled a minute later when he flashed by.

She inwardly cursed as she struggled to counter or avoid their hits without aggravating her leg. That package had better hold the secret to eternal life, she mentally grumbled, making no effort to sidestep their supposed ally.

With a foot planted on the dead woman’s chest for stability, she hissed “ _Katon: Enkoudate_ “. A fiery cloud billowed around her, forcing the two ANBU to step back while she substitued with one of her fallen shuriken.

Her new position was only marginally safer as the cat ANBU tried to grab her from underneath. Her Sharingan whirled as she caught him in a genjutsu. That second was all she needed to stab downwards with both kunai, slipping them deeply in between neck and throat.

The kill cost her.

Bird ANBU had used the time to rush into melee and, catching a hole into her fading chakra cloak, he sent a trio of explosive kunai, even at the cost of burning his own arm on the flames. Eyes wide, she shunshined as far as she could outside of the blast range, but not far enough, and she crashed into a branch, arm snapping from the force.

“Zetsu!” she cried out before twisting to the enemy she’d sensed “ _Katon: Goukakyuu no Jutsu!_ ” and the flames caught the camouflaged nin.

“We’ve sent word, Mikoto-chan!” her companion called back from where he was wrapped around another ANBU she’d not managed to catch in her initial genjutsu. White outgrowths were swelling all over the man’s body and his movements were becoming sluggish. She threw one of her last kunai towards the tiger ANBU who’d tried sneaking up on another Zetsu then turned to block a kick from her own enemy, only barely managing to redirect it.

“Ugh.”

Her eyes widened as she caught the tail end of the other’s cast. No! She flicked her wrist and a handful of shuriken sunk in his armor. He grunted, undeterred.

“ _Doton: Domu!_ ” And there wasn’t enough time to do anything but twist an inch and take the spear to the side instead of the heart.

* * *

 

When Obito stepped out of Kamui, a quick glance of the Sharingan showed him everything.

Trees were still burning around the devastated clearing where charred and bleeding bodies dotted the blackened grass.

A downed kunoichi lay impaled on a trio of earthen spikes, near a half-burnt ANBU showered in shuriken. Together with some hacked off saplings, a couple of Zetsu's dead clones had slid inside a muddy hole… Above them, the headless corpse of an Iwa nin hung off a branch, blood still raining weakly onto the fallen trees… To the far left, near a half-buried clone, a human figure twitched in the grasp of Zetsu’s bloated spores… And nearer, two dead clones had fallen next to an Iwa shinobi's hacked carcass... Another two ANBU, heavily covered in spores, were struggling to finish off an injured Zetsu clone…

...while Mikoto sluggishly parried hits from a one-armed ANBU, her other hand pressing against the steadily growing red stain on her chest.

 _No, no, no._ His arm shot forward without his consent, sending a hail of wooden spikes into the bird-masked ANBU before he rushed to catch Mikoto as she swayed. His fingers fluttered over the injury and he willed the bastardized form of Hashirama DNA to spread over the gaping flesh like a bandage.

Almost absentmindedly he let Zetsu’s former opponents pass through him as they charged and sent his chains to wrap around their throats, pulling until they dropped to writhe and choke on the forest floor.

“O-obito, you’re here?” Mikoto whispered, coughing between breaths.

“Shh…”

* * *

 

Following the chakra flares, Itachi and Kisame burst into the clearing in time to see their masked leader being handed a tiny package by a heavily injured woman. Whatever she was saying, the words were interrupted by frequent winces and racking coughs. She was dirty and bleeding, with an arm hanging limply and seemed on the brink of passing out and in spite of it all, the woman seemed happy.

Even more shockingly perhaps, the young kunoichi was leaning against Madara and was, in turn, supported by his arm wrapped around her waist.

Itachi’s eyes widened as his Sharingan traced the woman’s well-known features and the hauntingly familiar smile, a smile she aimed at Madara! That woman… It couldn’t be…

As though sensing his heated stare, Madara looked towards the tree line. Chuckling, he leant down to whisper against the woman’s ear, then met Itachi's gaze, acknowledged them with a minute wave and disappeared with the kunoichi in the Kamui.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh… they *might* have managed without him. Maybe, maybe not. For a more interesting fight I considered a six-man ANBU team with one from the other team which stayed with Jiraiya.


	10. A Rough Patch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer’s block and a spotty internet connection abroad make Neleo a dull… well, you know what I mean.  
> And since I’ll be leaving the country again for a couple of weeks, I may or may not get to update till the end of June. S’how it is.  
> I’ve only read over this chapter once (so I might come back over the next few days and edit a few things) but I needed to get the fight out of way. I hate fights… No, what am I saying, I love fights… but not when my favourite characters are involved. Unfortunately, in the Naruto universe it’s never just sunshine and rainbows.

**Chapter 9: A Rough Patch**

 

The door silently slid open and Obito walked in, trailing steam. Clad only in a pair of loose cotton trousers, he stopped in the doorway to inspect his guest. Mikoto paid him no mind as she unwrapped her bandages and set to cleaning the cut. She'd perched herself on the very edge of the bed and was dabbing a thick brown ointment over her thigh wound.

“There’s a week-long bodyguard mission to Wind coming up next month. You should be–”

“No.”

"Does it still feel tender?" he asked, leaning against the doorjamb.

Her brows were stuck in a heavy frown (for an Uchiha) and she stubbornly took her time in answering as his eyes trailed over her body and catalogued each injury.

"No."

"Just no?" he insisted, crossing his arms over the large gray towel hanging off his shoulders.

"Just so."

"So you’ve regained full range of motion?"

"Yes."

"Does it impair your flexibility?"

"Hardly." she replied, another curt answer given just loud enough not to qualify as mumbling. He tried to muffle a snort and couldn't help but needle her further.

"Oh, is that a poultice from Zetsu's stock?"

"Hn."

Ah, she was still so angry, it seemed. He took a seat on the bed, absentmindedly rubbing the terry cloth against the back of his neck.

Half-dry, his raven hair was already clumping in short, gravity-defying spikes which, Mikoto thought spitefully, made him look like a ticked off hedgehog. Good.

"The stitches?"

"Another week, at most." The stitches looked good and the skin showed no signs of infection but the four inch cut was still healing slower than the fist-sized hole Obito had hastily patched in the forest.

Mikoto found it unnerving. The odorless white ooze he'd used to stem the blood flow had sped her recovery time significantly. However, that makeshift organic gauze had somehow fused to her flesh. Discovering the unusual graft (alone, in the early hours of the morning when she'd first tried to change her dressing by herself) had been horrifying.

"And has the chest wound been giving you any trouble?" Obito pressed, moving closer when Mikoto still wouldn't look up from her work.

"Hnn..." she hummed and shrugged slightly in reply. It was a half-hearted noise of assent but Obito hadn't expected any better. They’d been tiptoeing around each-other and the problem even since she’d woken up.

What had Zetsu been thinking, sending both Itachi and Mikoto to the same battlefield? Was it stupidity or paranoia that’d driven him to try and sabotage Obito’s working relation with his cousin? He’d been forced to stake some sort of claim in front of Itachi… well not really forced, it hadn’t been a hardship, in fact it had come almost naturally if Obito were being honest with himself (which he really didn’t want to be in this case) but afterwards he’d still regretted his impulsive displays of affection. Acting more distant - professional, he told himself - and reserved - like a proper Uchiha (and shouldn’t she have been proud of him for that) - had only added grumbling and frowns to Mikoto’s already surly disposition.

Five days later, even his attempts at civility were getting strained. Perhaps it was time finally time to talk about her attitude and figure out exactly what she seemed to be blaming him for.

“These offhand answers are getting tiresome… as is the brooding. Do you blame me for your injuries?” he demanded bluntly.

Mikoto looked startled.

“No, of course not.” Was that the impression she’d been giving?

“For the mission then?” he insisted, pacing as he spoke. Her pursed lips and hastily averted gaze were enough of an answer.

"You accepted it yourself, Mikoto."

"I accepted the mission to take out Toyama.” she countered, running a hand under her ribs. “Not a squad of Rock ANBU with only a stealth expert for support."

A fist-sized patch of skin was now white mould instead of cream colored flesh, like a little piece of a clay statue that had been stuffed into her chest and brought to life. It was supple and warm - and quite sensitive to touch - and for two days she'd wavered between horror, disgust and fascination.

It hadn't helped that after the adrenaline had passed, Obito had dropped her off in some dimly lit room underground and would only come visit when it was time to change her bandages and assess how her wounds were healing.

What’s more, whenever she’d asked about the skirmish all Obito did was clench his jaw and say ' _It was a mistake._ ’ or ‘ _It doesn’t matter, you shouldn't have been there._ ' and nothing about the allegedly oh-so-important item she'd helped recover or about the people she was supposed to have helped.

Ever since she'd refused to die honorably in the past survival had been the only worthy thing anyone could offer her. And just when she'd thought friendship or affection might also have some worth, his orders had nearly gotten her killed. She locked her jaw and closed her eyes when they began burning with tears. What a joke.

"‒and it's a bit naive to assume that mission parameters don't change."

Obito had clearly been working up to a good rant while she’d been lost in thought.

"What's naive is to expect me not to notice that I was thrown ahead as expendable…” she interjected “...to slow the enemy down perhaps, one outside my league but which you could have easily dispatched before we suffered any casualties... before I nearly died."

"Oh... so this little temper tantrum isn't because I refused to answer your questions related to the package, the girl or the girl's master...  or" he added, bending to look her in the eye “that I’m not giving you as much attention as you obviously want?”

"Must they be mutually exclusive?" she challenged, unashamed.

"Well... when you go straight from smiles and hugs to frowns and accusations one usually assumes‒"

"I assumed I had your respect," she interrupted in a withering tone "if nothing else; that if you reserved the right to put me in potentially lethal situations, I'd be given more than a perfunctory ' _it's on a need to know basis and you don't need to know_ '. And yes, I thought we’d become friends though clearly that wasn’t the case. I'm sorry if I…” slowly, she trailed off. She seemed to be struggling with her words and Obito waited, somewhat impatiently.

“Perhaps is was a mistake to put so much of my faith in a person I really know very little about."

"What are you saying?"

"I'd like to return to Ashoro as soon as possible."

His eyes widened in surprise.

"You’re willing to cut off all ties over a fight."

She looked away. "No. But if there's no one here who will put me first... I have to be the one to do it, at least."

Obito sighed and crouched in front of her.

“No.”

“No?” she asked, somewhat confused.

“This talk of leaving is ridiculous.”

“I‒”

“You’re staying.” he ordered, pinning her with a stern look until, at length, she nodded. “You can’t threaten to leave every time I withhold information. There are some things you’re better off not knowing… and some others which I just won’t share.”

“Hn...”

“And I won’t always indulge you when you try such pathetic attempts at emotional manipulation.”

“...I understand.” she grudgingly agreed.

“That man the Iwa kunoichi mentioned is a colleague of mine, Akasuna no Sasori.”

“A colleague… like Zetsu?”

“Yes.”

“Sasori of the Red Sand… the name sounds familiar… Wasn’t he an S-class missing nin from Sunagakure?”

“He is.”

“Are you part of some mercenary company? What exactly are you mixed up in, Obito?”

He glanced to the side with a smirk. “Something too important for little girls to stick their nose in.”

“Hn. Sounding so smug… been waiting to say that for a long time?”

“Give someone some scraps of information and they get all cheeky.”

He rose from his crouch and turned to leave the room.

“Make sure you train. You’ll be taking the mission to Wind.”

 


	11. Her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The previous author's note applies but bless the Turks, I love their internet and their friendly, helpful attitude. :D (Typed this on my tablet so please excuse any mistakes.)  
> Also, this chapter's going to delve into some more pseudo-science. It's almost certainly not-canon but as long as Kishimoto never writes anything explicitly contradicting it, I think I'm going to stick to it. It provides a nice explanation for some of the things in canon...  
> This is the second time Zetsu just butts in and tries to take over a chapter (which is strange because he's not one of my favourite characters but I guess when you have to spend so much time thinking about how someone's going to think and act, they grow on you).  
> 

**Previously** : _"Give someone some scraps of information and they get all cheeky." He rose from his crouch and turned to leave the room. "Make sure you train. You'll be taking the mission to Wind."_

 **Chapter 10** : Her

They ate slowly and Mikoto let the constant buzz of Zetsu's chatter wash over her as she chewed. Speaking to her partner was a fairly relaxing activity, the green-haired man being perfectly capable of holding up both ends of the conversation (and often doing so). She carefully picked up another piece with a swiftly repressed shiver of disgust.

Breakfast was a pretty common fare - rice with a side dish of grilled sweetfish - the usual deal at the base. (Obito could only prepare the simplest meals and Mikoto had little inclination towards cooking anything but sweets.) Today though, in spite of Obito's warnings, Mikoto had finally given in to Zetsu's pleas of letting him try his hand at making breakfast. ...Which was why she was currently working through the (frankly disastrous) results at a snail's pace (stoically trying to keep an impassive face at the terrible taste of burnt - and somehow bitter - rice and half-charred, half-raw fish) while Zetsu observed with a happy grin.

She sighed. At least it made him happy... She forced herself to swallow another mouthful. At one point, the conversation turned to the topic of their upcoming missions.

"Why do you think they're having you do this alone, Mikoto-chan?" he asked, his pleased smile widening as he carefully surveyed her progress. While he couldn't eat his cooking (all food tasted like dirt to him), watching Mikoto enjoy the fruits of his labour filled him with pride.

Mikoto shrugged. "I could give you a number of reasons, Zetsu-san, but I think at least part of it is due to Tobi wanting to see me complete a mission by myself..." She paused, then grudgingly added "Successfully."

"Eh.. but we did so well together last time, Mikoto-chan... and brought in a lot of money too." Zetsu whined, pouting dramatically and making Mikoto snort.

"I think spending two weeks nursing me back to health made Tobi angry enough to label the entire thing a failure." she said and Zetsu pinned her with a surprisingly sly look.

"I don't think taking care of you was the problem, Mikoto-chan... We did see you spending much of that time arguing with him."

"Hn. I might have occasionally-"

"Every day." Zetsu interrupted with a chuckle and Mikoto pursed her lips.

"Quite..." she said curtly, before switching back to the original topic "Regardless, the mission seems tailored to my strengths so I don't expect it's going to be very difficult. Tobi should get an accurate read if that's what he's looking for. If not, it should at least be an enjoyable diversion."

Zetsu seemed to grumble under his breath, something which sounded suspiciously like "We're going to miss you."

Odd, but not unexpected. Mikoto could swear that her Zetsu was slowly changing from his siblings. It seemed strange (yet somehow flattering) that whichever Zetsu spent time with her modified his behaviour until he was just slightly more open, carefree, caring and, dare she say it, more focused than the others. It wasn't as though he'd suddenly become more intelligent but that he'd gain a much greater attention span - a dose of patience even. Over time, his questions became less outlandish and even his preferences appeared less... psychotic.

She wondered at times if the graft Obito had applied had anything to do with it. Before the fight against the Iwa nin, she'd often caught Zetsu looking at her with this wide-eyed, hungry look where she could almost hear the unspoken '...if you weren't my partner, I'd take a bite... or more.' She'd found it all the more disturbing because he could still carry on a pleasant conversation while looking as if he'd like nothing more than to nibble on her finger bones if she gestured to emphasise some point or other. Since her injury though, the hungry gleam had all but disappeared and been slowly replaced with the languid, half-lidded gaze of a cat basking near the heartfire.

She wasn't to know that Zetsu (all of the Zetsus), having been part of the Gedou Mazou - the Juubi's husk - for so long, had inherited the construct's desire of absorbing any being with chakra (as was the Ten-Tails' purpose, back in its day). In a sense, she was correct that the skin graft had something to do with his change in attitude but the correlation was different than the one she'd made. Held in check by the Sharingan, Hashirama's DNA (that Madara had used to reinforce the husk he'd dubbed 'Demonic Statue of the Outer Path') became subordinate to the Juubi's own genetic makeup. The material, roughly like a virus, linked itself to the Uchiha genes, altering and enhancing them.

For Obito, whose right half of the body had been replaced almost entirely with the substance, this had increased his power by an order of magnitude and because of the Uchiha clan's distant descent from Kaguya herself, the new chakra affinity sent a subtle feedback to the other cell bearers so long as they remained in close proximity. Spending time nearby Obito, the mutated humans regained some of their lost skills (be they related to physical or intellectual prowess) even if their memories never recovered. On a much smaller scale, the process repeated around Mikoto.

She might have thought it a ruse (to gain her trust, perhaps) but the dual-coloured Zetsu had seemed very disgruntled by his counterpart's behaviour, chastising the white clone under his breath almost all the time the three of them had been forced to work together.

Mikoto wasn't even certain whether it was even the same individual or different clones, periodically replaced by Obito or Dokuzetsu (a thought which seemed unusually paranoid but knowing Obito and meeting Dokuzetsu, it was something she couldn't discard out of hand). There seemed to be clues for either conclusion and she wasn't about to ask her cousin or his black-skinned companion. Still, for some strange reason, 'her' white Zetsu was always quick to please and earnestly attentive, his usual zeal and viciousness both held in check by something she could only guess at.

"Well, make sure you come back safely, Mikoto-chan, and I'll cook a grand feast on your return." Zetsu offered and she tried to cover a wince.

"Aa..."

* * *

 

( _Some days later, at an unknown location_ )

He blinked.

There were flowers at the windows, in bowl-shaped blue pots all lined up on the window sills, those tiny star-shaped flowers his mother used to grow. He smiled and shook his head. He couldn't quite remember telling his wife they were his favourite but he must have, mustn't he. The pots were sat on small, round doilies, delicate things of cream-coloured lace with these odd little fans embroidered all around the edges - part of his wife's dowry, his mind supplied, passed down from her maternal grandmother.

The water had stained some of them and he cursed the servant for her carelessness. His Aya would be so upset when she found out. Maybe if he moved the pots a bit he could hide the stains till he ordered some replacements. There was bound to be someone in the whole Sage-forsaken capital who could make something to match. After fiddling with the flowerpots, he sat back in his armchair with a grunt.

He puffed his pipe, once, twice and blew a wispy ring of smoke. His free hand idly stroked the old wood along the worn carvings with their half-faded paint. He remembered winning this chair from his old friend (and occasional business rival) in a card game. Heh, those were some good times. What was Hiroto doing these days, he wondered. maybe they could visit the old goat sometime this year, perhaps during Haru Matsuri. Hadn't Aya's little sister, Sachiko, moved to Yuni? His wife could attend the festival with her sibling while he and the old gang hung out. Not bad, he silently congratulated himself, not a bad idea at all.

"Aya-hime!" he called out "Aya-hime!" He smelled her an instant before her delicate hands alighted on his shoulders, the smell of freshly cut grass and something bittersweet, uniquely hers.

She ran her fingers over the cloth and lightly pecked his cheek. "My dear, was there something you needed?" she asked, in that soft voice which never failed to chase away his worries.

"I was thinking of paying old Hiroto a visit. What do you say?"

"Hiroto? Hmm… Your old school colleague, the weapons merchant?"

"That's the one."

"Would it be a business or pleasure trip, beloved?"

He laughed, then coughed as too much smoke filled his lungs. His Aya gently patted his back till he felt he could breathe again without choking.

"That man's too wily to make a good partner. Heh, working with Hiroto-kun, never again." He snorted and scratched his head. "But don't you worry, princess, there's a big shipment coming in. We're going to be set for years. Years, princess."

Coming around his armchair, his young wife gingerly sat herself on his lap.

"That sounds amazing, my dear. How did you manage such a thing?" she asked, running her fingers through his hair.

"Eh, I'll tell you, princess. I'll tell you." he bragged, patting her thigh and grinning widely around his pipe. "It was a stroke of genius."

* * *

Looking at the ugly old man, Mikoto debated leaving him alive.

After a while she sighed, put her kunai away and turned to leave. He was a paranoid, remorseless crook and a miser and yet he'd been willing to spoil his young new wife. She had enough compassion left to spare the man who, in spite of his flaws, had treated her kindly, called her princess and struggled to make her happy.

* * *

He woke up as he always did, in his dingy apartment over the shop. The stained hinoki floorboards creaked as he went through each room, checking the locks and traps and finding them all untouched. Good. Another undisturbed night. His eyes narrowed as he peered into each corner and behind each piece of furniture, as was his habit.

Hardly any light shone through the narrow windows. The glass had gathered a thick layer of dust and grime but he didn't want any nosy neighbours spying into his home anyway. Always butting into his business, asking about his day and whatnot. He didn't ask them about theirs, did he. He huffed and cursed under his breath. People should learn to mind their own business, he thought.

He smacked his lips and wondered why he felt like smoking. He hadn't lit a pipe in years. Hi no Kuni still held a near monopoly on tobacco and he'd be damned before he gave those fat crooks any of his hard earned ryo. He sniffed, rubbed his nose with the back of his hand and sniffed again. Curious. He thought he'd smelled something but there was nothing unusual. The same old moldy smell. They charged too much nowadays for a simple bleaching. He'd do it himself one of these days.

He blamed it on the strange dreams he'd had and frowned.

"Marriage. Pft, like I have time for any of that nonsense." he grumbled, locking away the dream of milky-white skin, dark hair and a soft, beguiling voice calling him beloved.

* * *

 **OMAKE**  (fairly lighthearted, but it can be taken as story canon)

White Zetsu was a terrible influence.

It shouldn't have surprised Obito as Madara's creations had always held a very skewed view of the world (and been ever quick to share it with anyone who'd listen... how the impatient old man had contended with the nuisances for so long was still a mystery).

Still, he silently reiterated, white Zetsu was a terrible influence on Mikoto. Why, the girl was acting almost carefree, smiling at her partner's jokes, indulging all of his questions and letting the plant-man drape himself over her shoulders as he peered down at the map she was redrawing from memory.

It was unnatural.

He realized he'd been clenching his jaw and forced himself to stop. No, he told himself, he wasn't jealous of the casual way Zetsu was playing with the ends of her hair, twining his fingers through the thick, glossy strands. What? Was she humming?!

Tch... He was happy about it! If she cared for her partner, she'd be tied even tighter to the Akatsuki (even if she was currently unaware of all this implied). So yes, he was **clearly** happy about it. Anything and everything for the good of the Moon's Eye plan.

So when a casual punch sent Zetsu sailing to the other side of the room, all he said was "Let the girl concentrate. She's got work to do." and gone on his way.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mikoto's strength (aside from ranged weapons) lies in genjutsu. Unfortunately, unlike tai or ninjutsu, genjutsu isn't visually impressive. Describing the mission the usual way would have boiled down to: She dropped in, looked him in the eye, asked him a bunch of questions and left. *sad, sad sigh* Also, the omake... it's story canon for me ^_^


	12. Three

**Chapter 11: Three**

( _A couple of months later_ )

Though the team had only just arrived at the inn, Mikoto's companions had already retired to their rooms to wash up, rest and eat a large, warm meal (well-deserved indulgences for finishing the mission a day ahead of Pein's already tight, punishing schedule). Instead of rushing indoors with the Ame nin, Mikoto had lingered outside.

Obito had called her Zetsu away for some other mission and Mikoto had been required to work with three shinobi she'd formerly only met in passing, Nomura Isamu, Ookawa Akira and Toriyama Yoshimaru. The trio of Ame chuunin were (or, at least, appeared to be) still loyal members of their village’s military and their position had got her thinking about the organization Obito (and now her as well, she supposed) was part of.

From what Mikoto had gathered (and from having traipsed with Zetsu all across the lands of Hot Water, Grass, Earth and Wind), the mercenary company accepted missions from all nations (and against all nations so long as the end result couldn’t be traced back to them) but these were the first members she’d met whose hitai-ate hadn’t been scratched out.

Did that mean that the 'Pein-sama' her teammates had mentioned (or even the organisation itself) was based out of Rain? Hanzo the Salamander had had total control over his country, he wouldn’t have allowed so many missing nin to even walk into Ame, let alone form their power base in his domain.

It was something to consider but she’d get nothing out of Obito (nor Zetsu) and it seemed best to wait for Toriyama and Nomura’s tongues to had been loosened by a couple of cups of warm sake before asking any questions on the matter as well. Later this evening, perhaps.

For now, she’d simply enjoy the unseasonably warm weather - it was a balmy day for April, especially this far north into the Land of Iron. Rather than waste the free day in the common room Mikoto had taken a seat on the edge of the wooden porch and, leaning back on her elbows, she watched the clouds drift past.

Streaks of white trailed lazily across the sky, twining around each-other as the breeze slowly urged them towards the horizon. Her own hair had broken free of its braid, strands brushing against her cheeks and curling around her throat at the coaxing of the mild easterly wind.

The ryokan's terrace shone with the lustre of freshly waxed wood and the heavens reflected on the polished surface as in a mirror. Under the too bright sun and if she peered through her lashes it almost seemed as if she were sitting in the firmament, among the clouds themselves.

A whisper of a memory hovered at the edge of her thoughts. What had Obito called her all those months past, she struggled to recall. ‘ _Ah, Momo-no-Mikoto, goddess Peach._ ’ Did that make her the goddess of fruit... or summer perhaps. There was a rueful curl to her lips as Mikoto mused on the issue. Knowing her relative's strange (and rather cruel) sense of humor if he were to name her goddess of anything it would probably be Goddess of Peach Pits, Blessed Guardian against Constipation.

She shuddered then stared at the gleaming terrace with a considering eye, idly tapping a nail against the wood. It was no use. The image of such an embarrassing portfolio wouldn't leave her mind, spoiling any other thoughts of (even make-belief) divinity. Sighing, turned her gaze back to the sky. To the west, as the wind blew it further away, an oddly-shaped cloud looked uncannily like a pouncing rabbit.

Did rabbits pounce at all, Mikoto wondered, fearful little things that they were. Lifting her hand, she traced the imagined bunny’s slowly fraying edges. It was an odd thing to wonder about (or it could be that that not knowing was odder, she supposed). Regardless, she could perhaps see it as a metaphor for a harmless creature going against its nature to change something, like… like peaceful goddess Peach murdering her cousin to assume a new, better title than Goddess of Peach Pits... or even seducing him into giving her something different.

"It wouldn't be a hardship, that" she huffed under her breath "he's handsome enough in spite of the scars." With his large, almond shaped eyes and patrician nose, taller than her by a head and a half, lean and pale-skinned like all Uchiha...

Her hand flew to her mouth to muffle an unladylike snort. How had her thoughts even wandered so far? It seemed that boredom could turn anyone to whimsy.

Closing her eyes, she almost missed the unravelling cloud rabbit catching up to a larger, puffier cloud.

' _I wonder..._ ' Mikoto thought with a smile. Still smiling, she let her mind drift, focusing only marginally on the sounds of the bustling inn: the nearly constant chatter from the common room, sprinkled with laughter and the occasional screech or bellow, the muffled stomp of the civilians’ socked feet going from room to room, the quieter steps of the inn’s servants as they hurried across the walkway, arms laden with heavy serving trays or laundry.

The mild breeze and pleasant warmth had almost lulled her to sleep when she felt someone take a seat beside her. She debated opening her eyes but she doubted anyone could fake her companion's unique scent of pine ink, that harsh undertone of bitter root he and Zetsu seemed to share and the ungodly measure at which his and her grafts seemed to resonate. Further still, her nose told her that the only weapons his hands were currently holding were two plates of daifuku.

“Tobi. Do I want to know how you keep finding me, regardless of how obscure or remote the places may be?” she teased, hand darting out to snatch one of the few light green mochi on the plates.

“Oh, I doubt it. Now, enjoy. Your teammates are full, fit to burst” Obito answered lightly, waving the question away with practiced ease.

“And halfway to drunk, I assume.”

“They certainly seemed a merry crew when I passed them by.” he quipped back, moving the plate from one hand to another.

"A gift for finishing our mission early... from you? Very suspicious… Is this to mean we’re not being paid, our downtime is cancelled or some other calamity?" she said between bites, unwittingly leaning half-way across his lap when she reached for another cake. As she debated between a pale pink confection and a white one, a hand resting on his thigh for balance, Mikoto couldn’t miss the way he stiffened under her palm.

“Miko–”

“Oh, don’t be so easily offended, Tobi.” she interrupted him, mistaking the source of his discomfort. “It was an innocent joke.”

“Hmph. Still, how ungrateful.” Obito chided lightly as he placed both plates between them and leant back, watching her eat while he silently regained his composure. The sun had brightened her pale cheeks to a healthy, rosy hue and as he looked at her smiling and sighing quietly as she savored his little gift, he felt a strange tightening in his chest. Must be the usual, heady feeling of anticipation at being the bearer of bad news, he told himself.

“Eat up, eat up, you’ll need your strength.” he said in a playful singsong, just as she made to swallow the last bite “You won’t be resting here tonight. I need you to meet up with Zetsu at Miho, forty miles east.”

“Ah.” she sighed “It was a bribe.”

“You should be happy.” he said with a hidden smile “This task is something only you can accomplish.”

Her eyes gleamed with excitement and he nodded to himself “Yes. It’s absolutely essential.” He paused before adding with a mocking lilt. “Your Zetsu’s been moping without you. It’s affecting the others. A mission together should make everyone else so much easier to live with. That you couldn’t enjoy this free day… well, it was just sadly unavoidable.”

Instead of looking upset or embarrassed, Mikoto’s lips stretched in a wide, happy smile.

“Missed me, has he?” she asked with an enthusiasm which somehow dimmed Obito’s own enjoyment at sharing the unfortunate news. “I wonder if I should bring him something.” she mused aloud. “He doesn’t eat but perhaps…”

“Yes, well, _try_ not to leave before saying goodbye to your teammates” he bit out, suddenly feeling irritable. “We’d hate to make them worry, wouldn’t we.”

“What are you‒” she started saying, but trailed off as the vanished in the Kamui. She shook her head in puzzlement. ‘ _That man…_ ’

* * *

**OMAKE - Gifts (in all likelihood... not story cannon)**

"What?"

His eyes had darkened and Mikoto shivered lightly under his stare. How could she have just blurted that out? Obito hadn't been above using her preferences to tease or fluster her even before... he'd be insufferable now! Hidden inside her sleeves, Mikoto's fingers twitched around of a pair of steel shuriken. A nail traced over the sharpened edges the way a civilian might fiddle with a lucky coin for reassurance.

Her eyes darted around, uncomfortable with holding his gaze but she swore she could still feel Obito's heated stare focusing on her face, looking for a hidden lie. Mikoto barely refrained from nervously worrying her lips as she waited for his verdict.

"If this is a joke..." he said quietly, letting the sentence trail off and the threat unspoken. Mikoto mutely shook her head, caught between the horror of what she'd blurted out and the hope that he might actually take her up on her offer.

Obito's eyes searched her face for any hint of hesitation. Finding none, his whole frame seemed to quiver with anticipation...

"In that case..." he said, stepping closer "I suppose I'll join you... but it better be as exceptional as advertised."

He snatched one ticket out of her hand and walked into the dimly lit theatre.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things you probably know:
> 
> (1) A ryokan is a type of inn with traditional architecture, communal baths and Japanese-style rooms with the floors commonly covered in tatami mats, futon beds, etc.
> 
> (2) In natural and herbal medicine (especially old Chinese medicine) peach seeds were used in remedies for curing appendicitis (together with apricot seeds), asthma (together with rhubarb)… or constipation. Because Obito is a troll (and Mikoto knows it), she has an idea of what he’d choose to focus on.
> 
> (3) Daifuku are a type of Japanese rice cakes with (usually) sweet fillings.
> 
> Also, comments are lovely (and much loved).


End file.
